Camy Tang's Blog, page 86
November 2, 2015
Mutant Chronicles
Since I'm writing a near-future/sort-of-dystopian story, I watched this movie (thanks to Netflix DVD). It wasn't quite as bad as I expected it to be, but it had its problems.Here’s the blurb from Netflix:
In a futuristic world where Earth is divided into four warring "Corporations," a frightening new breed of NecroMutant threatens to destroy the global population unless the leader of an old monastic order can destroy the beasts and save the planet.
Camy: The story premise is that after the ice age, an alien machine came to earth to create those NecroMutants from human beings it captured, although the story never explains why that was the machine’s mission. Mankind warred against the machine up until an alternate reality Middle Ages, which was when the machine was buried.
The movie is set in an alternate reality future (the year 2707). The thought of four corporations ruing the world was credible to me since history had been changed after the machine touched down.
The technology is, surprisingly, a type of 1930s Steampunk where artillery and airships can do things our technology can’t do yet, but the design looks like something from World War II. That was way cool! The story world was quite different from the other movies I’ve seen. Actually, the story world might have been a darker version of the world of Fullmetal Alchemist (鋼の錬金術師) and Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood (an alternate retelling of Fullmetal Alchemist). (You can also watch these anime series streaming on Netflix.)
The main actor, Thomas Jane, did a decent job, and for me, there’s something about Ron Perlman—any thing he’s in, I just love his acting. John Malkovich had all of five minutes’ screen time, but even then he was so believable. This time I could notice the little things he does to make the character unique and above cliche. It was nice to see Sean Pertwee from Gotham in a minor role in this movie.
It was quite violent and there are F-bombs galore, which sometimes get mangled by the actors’ accents. The makeup special effects were very good, on par with The Walking Dead, and almost as gruesome.
My biggest beef with the movie is the characterization. One of the female main/minor characters, Severian, is really Too Stupid To Live. She’s supposed to be a bad@$$ swordswoman but she does dumb stuff that make her completely unsympathetic. I won’t go into spoilers, but she would have dived headfirst into the KoolAid, which does not make me care about what happens to her.
I was also scratching my head a bit at the ending.
Overall, probably a 3 out of 5 star movie for me. I mean, I watched to the end so it didn’t have buckets of suckage, but the writer side of me was thinking of ways the characterization could have been improved and holes in the storyline patched up.
November 1, 2015
Last chance to read THE SPINSTER'S CHRISTMAS
Hey guys,It's your last chance to read the revised version of my Regency romance, The Spinster's Christmas , before I take it down from my blog! It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.
A Regency romantic mystery
Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.
Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.
However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …
Start reading here.
October 28, 2015
My pathetic darned socks
September 30, 2015
The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 22
I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance,
The Spinster's Christmas
, so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.A Regency romantic mystery
Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.
Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.
However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …
Start reading here.
***
Chapter 22
January 1st
The turret door, which Miranda always had to struggle with, opened easily under Gerard’s strong hand, but it was nearly blown out of it by a whipping wind.
“It’s too windy,” she said. “Let’s go back.”
“No, Lady Wynwood said it had to be here.”
“Lady Wynwood?”
She pulled her cloak around her and followed him out onto the roof of Wintrell Hall. Despite the wind, the sun shone high above, only briefly misted over by the occasional wisp of cloud before beaming down upon them, turning the red brick orange-gold.
They found a spot in the lee of the cupola where the wind was only a gentle swirling around their bodies. Gerard wrapped the wings of his greatcoat around both himself and her, and then he pulled her close to kiss her.
In the cocoon of his coat, she pressed against him, the brick parapet at her back. His mouth tasted hers, then traveled to her jaw, her neck.
“Gerard.”
“Mmm.”
“You did not bring me here to kiss me.”
“How do you know? Maybe I wanted privacy.”
“If you cared about privacy you would not have kissed me in the middle of the drive yesterday.”
After tying up the two men, they’d driven them and the rented coach to the village to turn them over to the local constable and tell him about Harriet’s body in the woods. Then Mr. Drydale had driven them home in the carriage while Michael rode alongside.
Gerard had helped her down and then pulled her close to kiss her fiercely. In front of the grooms who had come racing from the stables, and the butler who had opened the front door to the house, and the family who had trickled out to see them. Felicity had given a horrified shriek that drew them apart.
“I kissed you yesterday simply to distress Felicity,” he murmured into her ear. The vibration of his lips against her jaw made her shiver.
“I should have protested more before following you up the stairs just now. Your knee—”
“I submitted quite docilely to your poultice, which smelled like a pig pen, by the bye.”
“It did not.”
“And now my knee is ‘plummy.’”
It was not. The ride on the horse had injured him further, making him lean harder on his crutches today.
“Marry me,” he whispered.
“I cannot.” Although that sounded ridiculous while she was in his embrace, his lips at her throat. “I have nothing …”
He drew his head back and looked down at her, but he did not loosen the circle of his arms. “I could not bear to lose you again. You mean too much to me.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, but a tear escaped. A whistling wind turned it to ice water on her cheek. “Yes, I will marry you.”
“At last—”
“If you will explain your reference to Lady Wynwood.”
“Oh.” He looked down at her, a flush creeping up his neck. “I asked her for a particular place to have this conversation with you.”
“A windy rooftop?”
“It sounded romantic at the time.”
She smiled at him, and he kissed her.
A few minutes later he said, “I told Lady Wynwood that I wanted a place where you would feel loved, and beautiful.”
She turned toward the copula, the glass panels gleaming. Thou God seest me.
“She was right.”
His mouth descended on hers, his hands tightening on her back, and for a long while she drowned in sea rushes and mint and Gerard.
***
I hope you enjoyed The Spinster’s Christmas! I’ll leave the entire book on my blog for a little while more before taking it down.
I have knit Gerard’s red and black scarf from an 1837 pattern that was likely in use in the Regency era. If you’re a knitter, feel free to join me: http://bit.ly/KnitGerardsScarf
Stay tuned for more stories about Lady Wynwood and Mr. Sol Drydale, and the romances of their family members. And maybe even a little romance for the two of them, too. :) The next book in the Lady Wynwood series will release next year, so sign up for my email newsletter to be sure to hear when it’s available.
Buy The Spinster's Christmas:
Ebook:
Kindle
iBooks
Kobo
Nookbook
Print book:
Amazon
Createspace
Don't want to miss a post? Subscribe to my blog via email:
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September 28, 2015
The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 21
I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance,
The Spinster's Christmas
, so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.A Regency romantic mystery
Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.
Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.
However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …
Start reading here.
***
Chapter 21
Harriet was several yards from the tree where Miranda hid. She would walk past her in a minute or two.
Then a voice drifted through the trees. “Miranda!”
Oh no. It was Gerard.
Harriet’s head swiveled around, and she searched the trees behind her.
How had Gerard found them? How had he known? She could not call to him, but she could not allow Harriet to shoot at him.
“Miranda!”
Miranda had not moved, had barely breathed, but a clump of snow from a branch above her dropped down. It collided with more snow-covered branches, and suddenly there was a cascade of snow that rained upon the ground, the only movement in the forest.
Harriet looked up. Saw Miranda hugging the tree limb. And fired the pistol.
Searing pain exploded in her shoulder. She saw stars. She felt her hands sliding over the tree bark, then forced herself to grip more tightly. But her limbs would not respond as they ought. She slid sideways on the branch and clutched at it with her legs, with her arms. Fire lanced up her shoulder.
But Harriet had fired the pistol. She could not shoot Gerard now.
Harriet gave a wordless cry of fury. Miranda risked a glance over her shoulder and had a tilted view of Harriet throwing the pistol to the ground, then rushing toward the tree. The branch began to sway beneath her hands as Harriet climbed.
“Gerard!” Miranda began to inch farther away from the trunk, from Harriet.
Running footsteps. Harriet’s two men were approaching. They would overpower Gerard.
But then she heard the sound of horses’ hooves pounding through the woods, thudding with her heartbeat. Not one horse, but at least two. Possibly three?
“Miranda!” But he was still too far away.
“Gerard!” Her cry turned into a shriek as the branch she clung to dipped violently. Her hands slipped an inch but she gripped more tightly with her legs.
“Fall, you miserable—” Harriet’s voice was horrible, like a pit of snakes and venom. She threw her body again at Miranda’s branch.
The branch of the old oak was large all around, but Miranda had moved away from the stable trunk. The branch creaked and pitched with Harriet’s weight, combined with Miranda’s. She yelped as it tilted downward for an agonizing moment, then flipped upward. Her legs slid against her skirts, loosening her grip on the branch.
Harriet began inching toward Miranda along its length.
The snorting of a horse. No, at least two horses emerging from between the trees. Men grunting, tussling along the ground.
And then the jingle of a bridle directly below her.
“Miranda, jump!” Gerard told her.
She couldn’t see him, but she remembered how far away the ground had been.
“I will catch you, I promise,” Gerard called.
He had said the same thing when they were playing Robin Hood in these woods. She had been trapped in the evil Prince John’s tower and he’d ridden up on his pony to rescue her.
As she recalled, instead of falling into his arms, she’d bounced off the rump of the pony and then tumbled to the ground. She’d also been only half as far from the ground then as she was now. But she trusted him.
She let go of the branch.
Her shriek tore from her throat as she fell, wind rushing past her ears. Her skirts caught in some twigs, making her twist in midair so that she saw Gerard’s wide eyes the moment before she collided with him. The breath was punched out of her lungs.
He swayed backward on his mount, but his arms closed tightly around her. “You’re safe. You’re with me.”
“Gerard, move!” shouted Michael.
The horse jolted forward under her, pushing her against Gerard and making him reel backward for a moment.
There was strangely no sound, then a horrible rending thud.
“Oh, God,” Mr. Drydale said.
Gerard twisted to look back, then pressed Miranda’s head against his shoulder. “Don’t look.”
“She tried to jump onto your horse,” Mr. Drydale said in a weak voice. “But she did not jump far enough …”
Miranda shuddered and buried her head against Gerard’s chest. She remembered how high she’d been off the ground. She remembered the protruding branches on the fallen tree trunk that had thrust out into the air.
“Ride back,” Michael said. “I’ll stay here with these two. Bring some rope.”
She looked toward him and saw Harriet’s two men motionless on the ground.
Gerard’s arms gathered her close as he turned the horse around. Miranda could feel his heartbeat next to her cheek, the rise and fall of each breath.
“It’s over.”
***
Next blog post: Chapter 22
Buy The Spinster's Christmas:
Ebook:
Kindle
iBooks
Kobo
Nookbook
Print book:
Amazon
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September 25, 2015
The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 20
I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance,
The Spinster's Christmas
, so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.A Regency romantic mystery
Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.
Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.
However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …
Start reading here.
***
Chapter 20
It was purely his foul mood that led Gerard to the library. Soon the bell would sound to dress for the New Year’s Eve dinner party, but he only wanted a glass or two of Cecil’s mediocre brandy.
He had never before proposed to a woman. It was just his luck that he would receive such a resounding refusal on his first attempt.
And then he’d kissed her like a desperate schoolboy.
And then she’d kissed him.
And then …
He knew logically she had been deliberately trying to push him away, but the word had been like a blow to his stomach.
She knows how to hurt you, old chap. T’would be best not to get close to anyone at all.
No. Miranda might live her life by that sentiment, but he would show her that to live without love was worse.
Her kiss had simply reinforced the fact that Miranda anchored him. Home, for him, was wherever she was.
His thoughts drew him to the library windows, which was why he immediately saw Michael running across the south lawn, carrying a child.
Ellie.
Gerard hobbled out of the library and nearly broke his neck racing down the stairs.
“Captain Foremont!” Mr. Drydale sounded from the landing above him but Gerard did not stop until he met Michael in the large circular entry hall. Ellie was crying, partly from the jostling of Michael’s running and partly from fear of the stranger holding her. She reached for Gerard as soon as she saw him, and he had to drop a crutch in order to take her in his arms.
“Miranda,” Michael panted. “Coach. Harriet.”
Ice water dashed down his spine. “Where?”
Michael shook his head. “Carriage.”
Yes, they could overtake a coach with Cecil’s lightest carriage. But Ellie …
“I’ll drive.” Mr. Drydale suddenly appeared at his elbow. “Lieutenant, run ahead to the stables to tell the grooms. Captain, give Ellie to Laura.”
Laura? Gerard looked around and saw Lady Wynwood hurrying down the stairs. “What is it?”
“I’ll explain later.” Gerard handed over Ellie, who went willingly to Lady Wynwood.
Michael had already disappeared. Mr. Drydale handed Gerard his dropped crutch and the two of them headed to the stables. Once there, they discovered the horses just being harnessed to Cecil’s carriage, but the grooms were reluctant to saddle a horse for Michael until Mr. Drydale shouted at them.
While they waited, Michael explained, “I happened to see Miranda and a maid walking toward the forest. It looked suspicious because Miranda knows she’s in danger and she wouldn’t leave with only a maid. I followed and saw a strange woman with a travelling coach stopped on the south track. Ellie was already there in the coach. They traded Miranda for Ellie, as well as a bag of coins for the maid.”
“That’s how they got Miranda out of the house,” Gerard said. “The woman was Harriet?”
“Yes. I waylaid the maid and Ellie when they headed back to the house,” Michael said. “I let the maid go in order to get Ellie back here quickly. The coach is going to London.”
They could still stop them. Michael had found them quickly because by the grace of God Gerard had been at those library windows and Mr. Drydale had seen Gerard rushing down the staircase.
Mr. Drydale was the better driver and took the reins, driving expertly along the road at a frantic pace. Gerard explained about Harriet and Miranda.
“There is only one road they can take to London until they reach the turnpike road,” Mr. Drydale said. “We will be able to overtake them before then.”
Seated beside him, Gerard felt useless, helpless. When he was able to do something, to occupy his hands, he could focus. Now, his thoughts crowded in his mind like cackling demons. He pushed them aside with difficulty.
God help me, I can’t fail her now.
And then he heard a voice that was not a voice. She is in My hands. Be at peace.
The demons ceased. His mind cleared.
He would find her. He knew because even though his injury had sent him back to England, it was here that he had found Miranda. The tightness in his chest eased, like the sting of a burn slowly fading.
Then they rounded a bend and saw a coach stopped along the side of the road. Michael, riding ahead of them, had already pulled up and dismounted.
“Whoa!” Mr. Drydale reined in the horses.
The coach was empty, the door open. The horses hitched to it were placid hacks who seemed only too glad for a rest and barely twitched an ear at the newcomers.
Gerard jumped down from the carriage, landing hard on his good leg and just barely preventing himself from falling by sticking out one of his crutches.
“You fool,” Mr. Drydale shouted to him.
Gerard ignored him, because a flash of red and black had caught his eye.
It lay on the ground toward the edge of the woods. He knew it before he had reached it and picked it up. His scarf, the one he had given to Miranda. He looked out into the woods, but saw nothing but trees and snow and shadow.
“She escaped.” Gerard couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his mouth.
“They went after her into the woods,” Michael said.
“Unhitch one of the gig horses. I must go after them.”
“Your leg—”
“Hang my leg!”
He hadn’t ridden a horse for months even before his accident, and he did not have the leg strength to guide it with his knees. But he could not make his way through the woods with his blasted crutches and he would not be left behind.
The horses were unhitched, and Gerard did not even feel a frisson of irritation that he needed Michael’s help to slide on bareback. He hissed as the position stretched and pulled painfully at the tendons in his joint, but pointed the horse quickly toward the woods.
He rode as fast as he dared, Mr. Drydale several yards to his left and Michael on his right. Low-hanging branches nearly took his head off a few times, so he crouched down over the horse’s neck. Pain pounded up his knee with each step the horse took, but he gritted his teeth and rode on. Even if he could not walk after he slid down from this horse, he would not go back until he found her.
“Miranda!” His voice sounded strangely muffled, surrounded as they were by the trees and snow. He strained it to call more loudly, “Miranda!”
Then suddenly came the sound of a single gunshot.
***
Next blog post: Chapter 21
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September 23, 2015
The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 19b
I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance,
The Spinster's Christmas
, so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.A Regency romantic mystery
Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.
Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.
However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …
Start reading here.
***
Chapter 19b
She landed hard on her shoulder, rolling on the ground and onto the side of the road. She hit the base of a tree hard enough to rattle her teeth, but she didn’t pause even for breath. She scrambled to her feet, ripping the scarf from her throat to fling it aside, and plunged into the woods.
Her cloak flapped behind her, and she reached back to grasp the cloth and hold it closer so it would not catch on any branches or bushes. The wind of her passing caught her bonnet, its ribbons pulling at her throat. She scrabbled at the ends and untied it, and it flew from her head. She would be colder, but she could see more clearly around her.
Behind her came the sound of thrashing through the underbrush. She darted around the trees along a twisting path, and slowly the thrashing grew fainter.
She had to find a way to hide. What could she do?
Oh, Gerard. But Gerard would not find her.
Dear God, help me!
She had not noticed the trees around her as she ran, but she suddenly spied one that looked familiar, an old rambling oak that she and her cousins had enjoyed climbing. They had been Robin Hood’s merry band, waiting to pounce on unwary travelers. They had liked the tree because although the lowest limb was above their reach, a large fallen tree trunk was nestled at the base that they could climb to reach the lowest branch.
She hiked up her skirt and scrambled up on of the fallen trunk, which was taller than a table. It had protruding sharp branches that thrust straight up into the air, which she used to pull herself up, gritting her teeth against the pain in her injured shoulder. Standing on the fallen trunk, she reached for the lowest limb of the ancient oak, which was now even with her chin, and with a little hop, pushed herself up. She was not as limber as she had been at twelve, trying to keep up with Gerard, and each movement sent shafts of pain through her shoulder, but she swung her legs up, hampered by heavy skirts, to straddle the branch. She stood and continued to climb.
The branches were thick, reaching outward from the massive trunk, and ice coated the smaller limbs like white leaves. The snow rained down as she climbed higher. She lay astride a large branch far above the ground, pulling her skirts and legs up, hoping the barrel-like circumference would mostly hide her from view from below. Gerard had once hidden from his playmates by laying on his back, but she was not so brave as to flip over and release her grip on the oak.
And then she waited.
A few clumps of snow drifted down, then all was still. She strained her ears to hear Harriet or the two men, but perhaps they had stopped to listen, as well.
Oh God, help me. She squeezed her eyes shut, resting her forehead against the cold rough bark.
But suddenly, all she could hear in her mind was Cousin Laura’s voice saying, “Thou God seest me.”
Why should God see her or help her? She had done a terrible thing to Harriet. She had not believed that God would care about her.
What is man, that Thou art mindful of him?
She had to believe. Thou God seest me.
Help me, please. Send help.
Steps picking their way slowly through the brush. Coming closer.
Miranda peeked down and realized that because the trees grew so thickly, the ground had very little snow, and was unable to give away her path through them. The steps came closer, but they were passing along the far side of the tree.
She risked another look, and her throat closed up.
Harriet was walking through the forest, one hand clutching her cloak, and the other holding a pistol.
***
Next blog post: Chapter 20
Buy The Spinster's Christmas:
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September 21, 2015
The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 19a
I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance,
The Spinster's Christmas
, so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.A Regency romantic mystery
Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.
Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.
However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …
Start reading here.
***
Chapter 19a
Ellie was missing.
Miranda had walked back from the Lower Gardens with her and the other children, and there had been much bustling about as they shed their cloaks, scarves, caps, and mittens. The nursery smelled strongly—and not very pleasantly—of wet wool, freshened only in the corners where pine boughs were tucked.
Dinner for the children was earlier than usual today because of the New Year’s Eve dinner party. The kitchen simply could not prepare the food for all the children and the grand party at the same time. But when it was time to eat, Ellie was nowhere to be found.
Miranda spent twenty minutes searching the nursery wing, in every closet and corner. She had begun to feel real concern when Jean, the under-maid, came up to her in the deserted hallway. “Miss, I found Miss Ellie.”
Miranda had not seen Jean since the incident in the family wing two days ago, and her appearance now with Ellie missing made Miranda’s breath freeze in her throat. “Where is she?”
“If you’ll follow me, miss.”
“I wouldn’t follow you if you promised the way to Paradise.”
Jean surprised her by stepping close to her, enough that Miranda could see the hard lines along her mouth and eyes. In a low voice, she said, “You’ll come with me if you want to see Ellie again.”
“If you’ve hurt her, you’ll see what I’m capable of,” Miranda said in a dark voice.
That startled Jean, and she blinked her pale eyes twice, thrice. Then they narrowed. “If you don’t come with me, she’ll be hurt badly.”
Miranda set her jaw, then noticed Jean was wearing a cloak. “Are we going outside? Let me get my cloak.” Jean looked as though she would object simply to be contrary, but Miranda added, “I will come quietly if you let me get my cloak.”
Jean came into the bedroom with her as she retrieved her wool cloak, and did not object when she also snatched up her bonnet and Gerard’s black and red scarf. Miranda then followed Jean down the stairs.
Michael would be helping with the preparations for the dinner party. Would they pass the dining room or the kitchens? Could she catch his eye?
But they descended to the family wing and then took the back stairs to the gardens. They saw no other servants, for they were all helping guests in their bedrooms or preparing for the dinner.
They turned toward the south end of the estate, but they did not cross the lawn, instead skirting the edge of the forest. Gerard’s bedroom window faced in the opposite direction. He would never see her.
The wind had risen, and it cut through her thin cloak like ice daggers. But her heart felt even more frozen. Was despair always so cold?
After taking a short trail through a narrow strip of woods, they came upon a dirt road used by the tenant farmers. An old traveling coach sat fifty yards away, driven by one of the men who had attacked them in the garden and at the skating party. It was the taller one, who had injured Gerard.
The coach opened and the round-faced man who had tried to take Miranda stepped out. He nodded to someone inside, and then Miranda saw Harriet.
She exited the vehicle gracefully. She had deep lines in her hard face, but her hair, visible under her bonnet, was still thick and beautiful, a rich brown color. Her eyes glittered when she spotted Miranda, but she didn’t smile.
“Randa!” Ellie’s voice carried to her on the wind.
“Ellie!” She hurried forward, and now saw Ellie sitting in a corner of the coach, looking small and very cold. She had her cloak, but no mittens or cap.
Miranda had no need to say anything to Harriet. The woman helped Ellie to the ground, shoving her roughly toward Jean. She also tossed the maid a leather pouch that clinked. “My thanks, Jean.” Harriet’s voice was low and rough, but would sound sultry to most men.
She issued no orders to Miranda, but simply turned her blue gaze upon her and waited.
Harriet’s silence was strangely frightening. Miranda climbed into the coach, and Harriet and the man followed. In a moment they were in motion, leaving Wintrell Hall far behind.
“I thought you were dead,” Miranda said to Harriet.
“You probably wished I was.” Idly, Harriet fingered the embroidered edge of her traveling cloak. While the material was not rich, it was of good quality, as were her gloves and bonnet trimmed in velvet ribbon. She had apparently not died a sickly prostitute, as the gossip had hinted, but had perhaps found some patron. She had the means to pay Jean, and probably these men, and to rent this traveling coach.
“Where are you taking me?”
“London.” Harriet stifled a yawn.
“You’re taking me to London to kill me?”
Miranda finally had Harriet’s full attention. “Kill you? No. I haven’t spent all this time and money to find you simply to kill you. I’ll toss you into the same neighborhood where I was stranded after you had me sacked without a reference.”
“You didn’t deserve a reference,” Miranda snapped.
“I didn’t deserve anything that happened to me,” Harriet hissed. “But you will.”
“Why—”
“Hold your tongue or I shall have Todge cut it out for you.” Harriet nodded to the man across from them. He gave Miranda a narrow gaze from eyes that were still slightly swollen from where she’d thrust her fingers into them, three days ago.
They traveled in silence for a mile. Miranda saw the forested area on either side of the road and knew they were about to leave Belmoore lands.
She knew exactly when they had to slow down because of the potholes in the public road.
She leaned down as if removing a stone from her shoe, grabbed two handfuls of dirt and straw from the floor of the coach, and flung them in Todge’s eyes. Then she grabbed at the door latch and flung herself from the moving coach.
***
Next blog post: Chapter 19b
Buy The Spinster's Christmas:
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iBooks
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Nookbook
Print book:
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September 18, 2015
The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 18
I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance,
The Spinster's Christmas
, so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.A Regency romantic mystery
Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.
Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.
However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …
Start reading here.
***
Chapter 18
Gerard made his way blindly down the corridors. He knew Miranda could not have meant the callous words she had flung at him. She was not indifferent to him. She had given herself away with that kiss.
She would have refused him in order to keep him safe. The thought warmed through the cold that had seeped into his limbs. So she must have lied to him.
If she had lied, she was uncomfortably good at it. She had looked him in the eye to tell him she did not love him.
Why would she refuse him? He could offer her everything she did not have. He could protect her.
Unless, he realized bitterly, she truly did doubt his broken body’s ability to protect her from anything.
No, he knew she had lied to him about that, too.
He knew where he wanted to go. He made his way deeper into the bowels of the house, searching out the older section. The carpets were older, smelling of long winters, and wall-hangings flanked the corridors like medieval squires.
At last he stood before the wooden door to the family chapel. It was strangely shorter and narrower than he remembered, but the wood was still deeply grained, darkened with age and woodsmoke, studded with iron.
He pushed open the door, which gave a mighty creak. Colored light from the narrow stained-glass window over the altar dazzled his eyes, and it took him a moment to adjust to the darkness of the interior. Four pillars stood at attention, spreading outward at the top into the delicately vaulted ceiling. The wooden pews seemed almost crushed into the rest of the floor space since it was not a pretentiously grand chapel, being small and only modestly airy.
And near the front, Lady Wynwood turned to look at him. As soon as he saw her, he knew he needed her, even though he had not been able to articulate it to himself. He had come here to find her.
She rose and came to him, taking his hands in hers. “My dear boy, come and sit.”
He sat with her in the front pew, resting his crutches against it. But now that he was here, he could not speak. The quiet of the chapel seeped into his bones, but instead of calming him, it only made him feel more helpless and vulnerable.
Lady Wynwood let him sit for several minutes before she spoke. “Won’t you unburden yourself to me?”
“There is too much. It has shown me that I am less of a man because of it.”
“Surely not, Gerard.”
“What purpose has this served?” He gripped his knee, and pain shot down his leg. “Was I too proud? Was I in need of humbling? Did I do something that required judgement?”
“The Lord does not punish in that way.”
“But He allowed this to happen.” And therein lay the root of his problems. Because of his injury, he had not been able to protect Miranda as he would have had he been whole. He squeezed harder, sending pain spiking up his thigh.
Lady Wynwood gave him a frank look. “We think that there is a reason for everything. But the truth is that there are many reasons for everything.” She laid her hand over his, smoothing the taut knuckles. “Your knee has brought you home to your parents, to a new chapter in your life.”
Miranda had said much the same. “But this is not the chapter I wanted. Not so soon. I want to know why God has done this to me.”
Her face had become drawn, and there was a hollowness and a horror behind her eyes that he had never seen before. “That is a trail that doubles back upon itself, and then doubles again.”
He shot to his feet and limped to the altar. Dust coated the brocade cloth covering it.
“For me,” she said from behind him, “anger is not a fire. It has been like drowning, a constant thrashing about, a constant questioning, ‘Why me?’ until it utterly exhausts me.”
Perhaps she was right. He had lived with this bitterness for so many months that now he didn't know how to live without it, how to release this tightness in his soul.
“What would you suggest I do?” His voice was harsh. “Pray? Give alms to the poor?”
“Be still,” she said simply.
He turned to look at her. She had a calmness of expression that reminded him of Miranda, but the weight of her gaze spoke of past pain, of hard lessons learned.
He swung back to the altar, his fingers wrinkling the cloth. “Since coming ashore, I have not been able to be still. I had more rest when I was on board ship, in the midst of a war.”
“War has not followed you home, Gerard. There are different ways to fight the battles on land.”
“What use is God when He takes away a man’s career and leaves his body broken? What use is God if He cannot save the poor and the helpless? No one else sees her. No one else cares for her except …”
The echo of his words shouted in the small chapel rang through the silence between them. It was blasphemous of him to say such things, but they came clawing up from the bitter gall in his heart.
A rustle of cloth, then Lady Wynwood was beside him, her hand on his again. “God sees her.”
He shook his head wordlessly. How could he know that?
“God sees you,” she said. “I do not know why you were injured, but I do know He can heal you.”
The idea seeped into his mind like water into the bilges of a ship. He could be restored. “How would He do that?”
“I do not know. Perhaps in ways we cannot understand. But I have felt that healing. Miranda’s calmness—the way that she calms you—that is like the peace of God that can heal you.”
But without Miranda, he was not calm. He was still angry, and frustrated, and bitter, his own unholy trinity. How could he possibly be healed?
But if God was all powerful, then would He not see Gerard? Would He not reach him?
Lady Wynwood grasped his shoulders to turn him to face her. “Do you want to battle this for years on end?”
“No,” he said, with more certainty than he had thought he possessed.
“Dear Gerard.” She touched his cheek. “Even if you do not trust in the Lord Jesus Christ, I do. I know that one day, with His peace, you will once again be happy.”
He had no reply for her. He did not feel much different from when he had entered the chapel. Perhaps he had expected too much. His talk with her had not changed today, and today was what pained him.
Lady Wynwood walked back down the aisle and left the chapel. Gerard remained, hands still gripping the altar, still without answers, still without an idea of what he could do.
***
Next blog post: Chapter 19a
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September 16, 2015
The Spinster's Christmas - Chapter 17b
I’m blogging the revised version of my Regency romance,
The Spinster's Christmas
, so you all get a chance to read it. After I post it all, I’ll take it down from my blog, so be sure to read it while it’s being posted. It is the first book in my Lady Wynwood series.A Regency romantic mystery
Miranda Belmoore has never felt attuned to the rest of society. Her family has never understood her blunt speech and unwillingness to bow to conventional strictures, and so they have always made her feel that there is something wrong with her. Now as a poor relation in her cousin’s house, she makes plans to escape a life of drudgery and disdain from her own family members.
Naval Captain Gerard Foremont is having difficulty adjusting to life back on land, frustrated that his career has been cut short by his severely injured knee. Guilt haunts him as he sees the strain his long convalescence has had upon his parents. As they spend Christmastide with the Belmoores, he wants to help fulfill his mother’s wish to have her orphaned niece come to stay with them.
However, an enemy has infiltrated the family party, bent on revenge and determined that Twelfth Night will end in someone’s death …
Start reading here.
***
Chapter 17b
She looked at him, and her mind became a blank. She saw only his eyes, his beautiful eyes, intent upon her face. She wanted to tell him the truth. She wanted to see his smile, hear his laughter, find joy in his arms.
It was too hard to take that step. Men like him did not love women like her. She had to make him see that his emotions were only fleeting, a mad dream from which he would wake. She gave a short laugh, tinged with both sadness and incredulity. “In a week?”
Hurt flinched across his face, and she regretted her laugh and her words.
“You cannot tell me that I do not feel as I do,” he said.
Her jaw set. “I will not allow you to make such a bad bargain.”
His jaw set, as well. She had seen this stubbornness in him, but never directed at herself. “Why is it such a bad bargain if I am in love with you?”
Love. He kept saying the word, as if he meant it. He couldn’t mean it. She had to convince him. Or perhaps … she was trying to convince herself.
She took a deep breath, then faced him squarely. “Because I do not love you, Gerard.”
Her hands shook as she said it, so she pulled them from his grasp and clamped them together, feeling her finger bones creak. But she had spent a lifetime perfecting this mask of calm—no, not a mask, a shield. She admitted it. But now, she was shielding him from herself.
He looked disbelieving, but in the face of her steady gaze, his skepticism began to crack, revealing … pain, held at bay only by some inner strength. She recognized it. She’d felt it often enough when her parents had said something particularly denigrating, when Felicity’s tongue ran sharp.
And she’d done it to Gerard.
“I ... I am sorry, that was too blunt,” she said.
Gerard didn't respond, but his eyes spoke for him—he did not want to believe her, he could not believe that he would feel this way if she did not feel the same.
She did feel the same. She loved him. But she was in a walled garden of her own making, and she held the key. And she was too weak to unlock the gate and step outside.
She wanted to believe that she could be vulnerable, that she could learn to trust. But she had been this way for too long. It was too frightening to step out. There was that part of her that was perhaps too broken.
Miranda rose to her feet. She wanted to appear practical, unfeeling—but she gnawed nervously on her bottom lip and she could not meet his eyes.
He gathered his crutches and stood before her, a numb expression on his face.
Miranda stared at her feet. “I am sorry, Gerard. I am grateful for the honour of your proposal, but I cannot marry you.”
She turned away to hurry back to the children.
Behind her, she thought she heard him growl, “I do not want your gratitude.”
Then his hand captured her elbow. Not hard, but firmly enough to detain her. She turned back to demand that he release her.
His crutches clattered to the ground, and then his arms were around her, pulling her tight against his body. His kissed her, his lips firm and sensual.
Then she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his head down. Blood pulsed fast and hard in her ears, and she kissed him with all that her heart had to give to him.
His tongue touched her lips and she opened for him. His hand tightened on her waist, her back, and she pressed herself against him.
It was glorious. And for a moment, the Upper Garden was in full bloom.
He pulled away from her, breathing hard. His eyes were amber fires, and the love she saw in them made her want to weep.
Her breath was coming in soft gasps, but when she gently pushed at him and his arms loosened about her, she still couldn’t seem to draw air into her lungs.
“Miranda, you lied to me.” Fierce delight shone in his smile. “You do love me.”
“I did not lie.” She pushed away from him, slithering around him to walk a few feet away.
He took only one limping step toward her. “You cannot lie your way through this. I felt it.”
She turned her back to him. He had felt it.
“Miranda, you must marry me.”
“I do not want to marry you.” Because she loved him, she also knew the most painful way to hurt him. “You say you can protect me, but we both know that a cripple cannot do so.”
There was no sound behind her. She could not turn around to see his face, so she hurried out of the garden without looking back. Upon walking through the arch into the Lower Garden, she spotted a little boy hiding behind a manicured bush. Which admittedly looked like a gigantic turd.
“I see you, Paul!” She ran to him, arms outstretched as though to tickle him to death.
He ran from her, screaming with laughter.
She played with the children for another half hour, but Gerard did not appear. When she, Miss Teel, and the nursery-maids gathered the children and marched them back to the house for tea, he still had not departed from the bleak Upper Garden.
***
Next blog post: Chapter 18
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