Icy Sedgwick's Blog, page 108

Photo Prompt 49

Latest prompt, ready and waiting.



If you want to use the prompt, all I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! If you don't comment on this entry, then I can't comment on your story.



The 49th prompt is Obelisk.





All photo prompts are my own photography - you can find more of it on Flickr. You can also buy my prints from Deviantart. 20% of all proceeds go to charity - the other 80% go towards my PhD fees!

Friday Flash - The Widow

The worst part about a funeral is the endless stream of condolences. I sit on a hard wooden chair in the drawing room listening to an array of well-meant but deeply resented cliches. I would very much like a cup of tea, but I must keep my hands free in order to greet the many mourners at Nathaniel's funeral. I am most surprised that they cannot tell me they are sorry for my loss, that I must be brave, that I am not alone in my grief, and that I can count on their support in this difficult time, without clasping my hand in theirs. Twenty minutes of wet eyes and earnest sentiments are taking their toll.



Jacob Naseby and his wife move away, satisfied that their effusions of sorrow have absolved them of any further involvement, and I shift position on the chair. The wood does not yield and a dull ache throbs in my lower back. I stroke the black bombazine of my dress to distract me, fiddling with the crepe trimmings and adjusting the fabric. I like wearing black, but it will be two years before I will be allowed to wear grey again. You could say that I know the mourning etiquette inside out, having gone through it twice before. I smile to think I always meet my next husband at the funeral of the previous one.



Speaking of the next husband, a handsome young man approaches me. I take in the deep chestnut hair and green eyes without looking obvious. He clutches his top hat in one hand and offers me a firm handshake with the other.



"Mrs Bagshot, I am sorry for your loss," he says.



"Thank you," I reply.



"I am Daniel Tenrigg. I worked with your husband at the bank. I cannot stay long but I wished to pay my respects."



I bow my head in gratitude but take the opportunity to look at his hands. I do not see a wedding ring.



"It is such a shame about Nathaniel...do they know what caused the malady?" asks Mr Tenrigg.



"The doctor was unsure." I permit myself to look up. He starts; I do not think he expected direct eye contact from a widow. He must not realise I have had plenty of practice.



"Forgive my boldness, but I heard a rumour it was strychnine."



"What a vicious rumour! Where did you hear it?" A knot of unease settles in my stomach.



"A friend of mine, Thomas Shuggleworth. I believe he also knew your second husband, Percy Farrow." Mr Tenrigg stares down at me and I suppress the twitch in my lower jaw.



"Poor Percy," I reply.



"I believe he was a victim of arsenic poisoning, was he not?" A shadow flits across Mr Tenrigg's face, twisting his beautiful features into a detestably smug expression



"Indeed he was. Percy was a sickly fellow and he bought many medicines from less than reputable salesmen. The doctors believe one of the remedies must have contained arsenic."



"That is indeed unfortunate, Mrs Bagshot. Was Henry Tidmuth unfortunate as well?" asks Mr Tenrigg. The knot of unease blossoms into panic and I fight to control my nerves.



"He was. My first husband was an amateur horticulturalist but he mis-identified a plant in our garden. He ate the berries, thinking they were something else, and sadly passed away," I reply.



"Ah yes. The deadly nightshade incident."



"Mr Tenrigg, I am mourning the loss of my dear Nathaniel, and I have other people to receive, so please forgive my frankness if I ask you to state what exactly it is that you would like to say?" I look him in the eye but I fear the tremor in my voice may give me away.



"I have nothing to say, Mrs Bagshot. I am merely commenting on your poor run of luck regarding your husbands and their accidents. May I suggest that if you should choose to marry again, you select a more careful husband?"



Mr Tenrigg performs a stiff bow and walks away. He stops on the other side of the room and engages one of Nathaniel's cousins in conversation. The panic in my stomach dissolves into rage, and I excuse myself. My maid tells those wishing to pay their respects that I am overcome with sadness and will return soon.



Instead of retiring to my room to indulge in a histrionic wailing fit, I head for the cabinet concealed behind a false panel in the wall of Nathaniel's library. I caress the glass bottles and jars, the only belongings I have taken with me from marriage to marriage.



I am sure that one of my friends will be only too happy to take good care of Daniel Tenrigg and his suspicions.

Forthcoming goodies and a new mailing list!

Good evening chaps and chapesses,



Is everyone still in one piece after Irene? I sincerely hope so, so if you were in an affected area, feel free to leave me a comment and let me know you're ok. If you weren't in an affected area then I'm sure you'll agree with me in sending lots of good thoughts to those caught up in it.



This is a brief blog post to say "I'm back!" now that I'm back at home. Much writing and PhD research can now ensue, but more importantly...it's not long until you can get your paws on my first book, The Guns of Retribution. The paperback comes out on 24 September (I'll let you know the Kindle date when I get it). I'll be organising a launch in Newcastle upon Tyne nearer the time, and I'll be popping up on various blogs too. I'll also be posting a series of articles about the perils and joys of writing historical and genre fiction so I'm trying to make the "campaign" useful and interesting as well as promotional.



In the spirit of whetting your appetite, I'm also going to be releasing a free download! Dead Man's Hand will collect the Friday Flash trilogy I posted earlier in the year, now edited and expanded, and it will include the whole first chapter of The Guns of Retribution as a little taster for you. Once I get it uploaded, Dead Man's Hand will be available from Smashwords and Amazon for absolutely nothing!



Last but not least, I'm in the process of setting up my very first newsletter, and a mailing list sign up form is now available! If you'd like to receive links to my stories and articles, as well as links to all the cool and eccentric things I find online, and even some exclusive fiction, then drop me your email using this form. I promise your details will be safe, and I won't bug you too often!



So until next time...take care of yourselves, and each other.

Photo Prompt 48

Latest prompt, ready and waiting.



If you want to use the prompt, all I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! If you don't comment on this entry, then I can't comment on your story.



The 48th prompt is Hidden Bridge.





All photo prompts are my own photography - you can find more of it on Flickr. You can also buy my prints from Deviantart. 20% of all proceeds go to charity - the other 80% go towards my PhD fees!

Friday Flash - Crocodile Tears

Image by Lisa Humes
As you may know, I moved yesterday, leaving London behind for my North Eastern homeland. The move went well and I'm glad to be home again.



Still, I pride myself on my organisational abilities so I had a Friday Flash written and ready to post at the weekend! Crocodile Tears is another Tale from Vertigo City so you can find it here. It's unrelated to my other tales so don't worry if you've never visited Vertigo before, but if you find you like it, my steampunk short, The First Tale, is still just 99c on both Smashwords and Amazon.

Seven Years

Seven is such a magical number, isn't it? Seven deadly sins, seven virtues, seven league boots, seven years bad luck...it seems incredibly apt that I would have spent seven years living in London. Still, the curse has been lifted and the errant word sorceress may now return to her home beyond the Wall.



As you read this, I am sitting on a train with my brother, heading north to my beloved homeland. Gone are the days of full time employment in office drudgery, and dead ahead lie the tumultous seas of PhD research, part time work and as much fiction writing as I can cram into my days. A few people have asked me how I feel about moving back in with my family but I get on really well with them, and it enables me to afford to study something I've wanted to do for six years. Win!



Still, I bear London no ill will for the fact that our love affair has turned sour. I did really enjoy living in London when I first moved there but the Spirit of the place has hardened towards its inhabitants. I don't regret the move down there, and indeed, a lot has happened in the past seven years. I got my Masters, I've been engaged twice, I've lived in three different flats, I've experienced redundancy, I had my first book accepted for publication, and I've met some wonderful people (special mention goes to the VERY awesome Jen Brubacher, who I just wish I'd met sooner). But it's time to move on. I don't consider my move back to my homeland to be a move backwards, but rather a step further along.



Let's see where the next seven years take me.

Photo Prompt 47

Latest prompt, ready and waiting.



If you want to use the prompt, all I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! If you don't comment on this entry, then I can't comment on your story.



The 47th prompt is Window.





All photo prompts are my own photography - you can find more of it on Flickr. You can also buy my prints from Deviantart. 20% of all proceeds go to charity - the other 80% go towards my PhD fees!

Friday Flash - A New Recruit

My darling Cavalier decided to dictate this week's Friday Flash, so you can find A New Recruit over on his blog!



As a side issue, the image comes from the Old Operating Theatre, an amazing little gem of a museum in Southwark, London. If you happen to find yourself in the area and you're in any way interested in the history of medicine, or the Victorians, then go and have a look. It's a fascinating place, and it was during the talk on surgery that Fowlis first started to tell me this story!

Photo Prompt 46

Latest prompt, ready and waiting.



If you want to use the prompt, all I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! If you don't comment on this entry, then I can't comment on your story.



The 46th prompt is Apothecary.





All photo prompts are my own photography - you can find more of it on Flickr. You can also buy my prints from Deviantart. 20% of all proceeds go to charity - the other 80% go towards my PhD fees!

Friday Flash - The Swarm

Eliza stood in the queue for the omnibus. The line at the stop snaked around the corner into Taffeta Street. On a normal Tuesday evening, silence would hang heavy in the queue. Citizens would stare straight ahead, eager to avoid even eye contact with those around them. Today, nervous chatter filled the air as people jostled together amid handshakes and greetings.

"Looks funny up there, doesn't it?" asked the woman beside Eliza.

"I'm sorry, what does?"

"The sky. It's essentially empty."

Eliza looked up. Dirigibles should be puncturing the thick plumes of smoke from the factories out west, puttering through the clouds. Instead, a bomber droned above the city on its third sky patrol of the afternoon.

"I heard they tore down the north east transport tower last night, right before they torched the scrapyard," replied Eliza.

"Really? Well I'm not surprised the Council stopped the airships running after that," said the woman. She gestured to the queue. "I suppose that explains why there are more people waiting for the omnibus."

"I've never seen it this busy so early but I suppose everyone wants to get home before Curfew." Eliza glanced at the Public Order notice strung from the lamp post. Black letters on a red field spelled out the consequences of disobeying a Curfew.

"All the shops are closed in the Merchant's Quarter. Even in Central Street – it should be heaving by now." The woman noticed a shopkeeper across the street. He drew a rattling iron grille across the window of his butcher's shop before scuttling away.

"All the shutters in the world won't stop the Swarm," replied Eliza. She looked up the street, half expecting to see them stampeding towards her.

"Do you think they'll come again tonight?" asked the woman.

"I don't know. How do you predict a mentality like that?"

Eliza shuddered to think of the Swarm, rampaging gangs of feral youths from the hinterlands around the city. They'd ventured into the outlying suburbs before, usually just to scavenge, but only in twos or threes. No one had ever seen so many at once, pouring into the City to loot shops, burn buildings and attack anyone who got in their way.

"Did you see what they did to Renfield?" asked the woman.

"Yes, someone brought the daguerrotypes into the office. All those poor people...I heard they had to pull the buildings down. Too much fire damage, or something," replied Eliza.

"Shocking, shocking. And I bet that's bad news," said the woman. She pointed to the telegraph wires overhead. They thrummed and bounced between posts. The police commandeered the network the night before, and judging by the violent vibrations, the news wasn't good. Eliza imagined her nerves looked the same way.

A horse-drawn police wagon clattered past. A banshee clung to the roof, wailing a warning. The queue fell silent to watch its progress along the cobbles. A gust of wind lifted the canvas flap to reveal grim-faced policemen clad in grey uniforms. White knuckles wrapped around batons. The same gust of wind brought the sharp scent of smoke. The tension in the queue wound itself tighter.

"Looks like it's started already. So much for the Curfew," said Eliza.

An omnibus trundled along the street. The sign on the front announced the destination as Edinsville, a bohemian community to the east. Eliza turned to the woman beside her.

"Are you going this way?" she asked.

"No, I'm waiting for the one to Onslough. You have a safe trip home though," said the woman.

"You too." Eliza reached out and squeezed the woman's shoulder. The woman smiled.

Eliza clambered on board the omnibus and slipped into the last available seat. The passengers shared idle reports of things they'd heard or seen, dropping to conspiratorial whispers to discuss what the police should do about the Swarm. Eliza found herself drawn into a conversation between two men in suits.

The omnibus trundled into Becker Square. Front doors stood open as quaking homeowners stepped into the street. They clutched makeshift weapons culled from the items left lying around their homes. Loyal household automatons placed themselves as guards in front of the families they served.

Eliza wished each and every one a safe night.