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The Art of Deception 37

The Art of Deception

or Pride and Extreme Prejudice

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This week continues a spy story set in late Georgian England, the year before Trafalgar. Last time Alice was more or less “outed” by a friend from back home. Roderick acted in a less than gentlemanly manner. This week, Alice overreacts in a less than lady-like manner, using the skills she so painstakingly learned at Mrs Hudson’s academy.

Alice had little choice. Her gown was both too long and too clingy for a solid kick and a slap to the face was unsatisfactory, so she bunched one of her fives and smashed with all her weight into Roderick’s mid-riff. He toppled over with a satisfying, at least to her, crunch, and slid along the polished floor. She hurriedly whispered, “The lower garden, Avonside, tomorrow morning,” to Sally. Then she disappeared, weaving her way through the crowd with startling ease.

Sally said to Mr Mapleton, “The garden, Avonside? What could she ever mean by that?”

“I should think she desires us to meet her there in the morning.”

Mr Spode looked up from trying to aid his friend, and noted their conversation.

Now that you’ve read my hackery, please see the talented writers in Weekend Writing Warriors.

My apologies for creative punctuation.

Tempers are flaring in this and the last post.

They’re not the only inflammable thing in the late Georgian/early Regency. The shift from wool, good domestic, “Make Britain Great Again” wool to imported cotton had consequences. One we forget about today, when nearly all cloth is treated to be flame-resistant, was fire. Getting rid of an interfering chaperone or mother-in-law, as Gilray suggests, is an added benefit.

There were others (at least if you were male).

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.

Get Free Stuff and try out my landing page. There are three free complete short stories (including an ARC for Frankenkitty) available after you’ve gone through the hoops.

A week in (almost).

A week with a motorcycle (almost)

I recently joined the fellowship of motorcyclists. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. So I finally did it. The featured image shows me in about half of my safety gear – that jacket is armoured. For what it’s worth I’m a strong believer in ATGATT (All The Gear All The Time). People worry a bit about the hazards, with good reason, but the serious accident rate in a bike is about the same as driving a 1970’s or 1980’s car. Still, I’m a highly defensive driver, and not just with my bike.

It looks a little shaky parked in my garage. I’d just finished my first ride on the roads (after training and getting my license) and was shaky myself. The clutch was different from the nighthawks on which I trained and the engine needs to be given enough ~~gas~~ petrol. I don’t get shaky like that now. Well, not quite, now I’m excited.

I picked out a used Honda CBR250R with ABS. It looks sportier than it is, but it moves. It’s an elegant, light, and reasonably modern bike. ABS is critical – while I’ve managed to not need it – accident rates and severity with ABS equipped bikes are much lower than with traditional brakes. (The study was done in Europe where all new bikes have ABS.)

I try to practice at least a half hour a day. Maneuvering – turns and swerves – is easy. It’s, if anything, more stable than a regular bicycle. I’ve practiced emergency stops, starting on uphills, and holding a constant speed. I’m slowly getting competent and able to ride in real traffic.

Some of the milestones:

Uphill starts, mostly mastered. Smooth starts on really steep hills will still take some work.
Turning on hills, left, right, from downhill and from uphill. In good shape.
Threading tight spaces when a parked car and a moving car take up almost the entire road. (Bikes do not have a reverse gear.)
Night driving. Not bad – there’s more visibility than with a car.
Negotiating a gas station and filling the tank.
Negotiating heavy Atlanta traffic and stop lights.

I’ve had the bike up to about 40 mph (a little fast for the 35 mph roads) and the sensation of speed has so far been exceedingly fun. Even a 250CC bike can accelerate when you push it. I’m having to watch speeds when I drive a car. It just seems so slow.

HackGSU 2016 (2nd edition)

This weekend is the second Hackathon at GSU. Since I’m the faculty advisor, you can guess what I’ll be doing.

A hackathon is a student-led, national and international contest, that pits teams of students against each other in a race to develop a computer application in limited time. They work with industrial sponsors to address real-world problems with state of the art technologies.

I’m especially proud of our team. They are led by an adjunct professor Dr EE Durham – who just happens to have been my student (about all the credit I can claim) and have put together a well-organized event. This is the second one they’ve done. The first rocked, and this is likely to be even better.

It shows GSU can do a great job when they’re given the chance!

Cretaceous and Tertiary Trails

Another trail map from a visit to Golden Colorado. This is a short walk that was suitable for the morning while we waited for our flight home.

This stroll starts from a somewhat tricky to find parking lot off of South Golden Street near route 70 (Hint Kilmer Street is the entrance to the Colorado State Police school – which makes it a very safe place to park.) It’s also near the National Renewable Energy Laboratory.

It proceeds up South Table Mesa, and crosses the K-T boundary several times. We took a digression (must remember to take the map with us next time) that would have led to the top of the mesa seen below:

We saw people on top the day before, but it appears they weren’t rock climbers.

The top is rather barren and desolate. A basalt layer with
Prickly Pear and
Yucca

Telegraph/telephone wires. Surprisingly wild views. CSM is this way, hidden by the edge of the mesa (you can also see Lookout Mountain in the distance).

It was, on a Monday morning, mostly deserted. Most of the runners and bikers appeared to be connected with NREL.

Sunday Snippet, The Master.

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.

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.

This week we see what ‘the Master’ says.

An Interruption, continued.

A knock on the laboratory door interrupted Rupert’s intense concentration on his latest experiment, electrolysing a molten salt to determine what metal he could recover. He had opened the windows in the laboratory to disperse the thick yellow gas that rose from one electrode, and a cold wind blew through the room. The thick coat he wore, because of the cold, concealed a wiry yet muscular frame. Striking blonde streaks in his dark hair showed where the caustic fumes had partially bleached it. The fumes had also bleached his face, giving him a ghastly white pallor. He wore goggles to protect his eyes. Without looking away from his apparatus, he said, “Brindle, what is it. This time?”

“Sir, there are two women at the front door. They asked for refuge from the storm, their carriage having had an accident on the main road.”

“I told you my opinion about visitors. Send them away.”

“One of them is uncommonly pretty, sir. She would be a diversion.”

“I don’t want to be diverted, but,” he paused, “Are they suitable company?”

“One claims to be Lady Hayforth, the other her maid. They are young.”

“Suggesting something again, Brindle?”

“I wouldn’t take that liberty, Sir. Still, may I remind you about the entail?”

“Yes, I know, I shall marry, sometime, if I ever meet the right woman.” Rupert shrugged, “Which seems rather unlikely. My experiment is at a critical stage. Ensure that they are warm and send someone for their bags. I’ll be ready at the regular time for supper.”

“Sir.” Mr Edward Brindle bowed. Then he shuffled off.

Rupert is doing an experiment that is dangerous (an understatement). Electrolysing a molten salt to extract the metal. Chemistry in the early 1800’s was decidedly heroic. The 1803 paper in the Royal Academy on synthesizing mercury fulminate – an explosive that will enter into this work – had the chemist analyzing his product by tasting it. There is no way on heaven, Earth or hell that I would do that.

The Art of Deception 36

The Art of Deception

or Pride and Extreme Prejudice

This week continues a spy story set in late Georgian England, the year before Trafalgar. Last week, after Alice was unable to worm anything interesting out of General Dumouriez, disaster struck. Her best friend from Easterly and her fiance – the real Mr Mapleton – corner her at the assembly. Alice tries, and fails, to bluff this one out.

“Do I know you?”

“I should hope so; um… Mr Mapleton and I… well, we’re engaged.”

“Goody for you, still Miss, what was your name?”

“Miss Willis, Miss Elizabeth Willis, your friend Sally.”

Roderick made his presence known, “Miss Mapleton, would you introduce me to your friends?”

“Miss Mapleton,” Sally’s fiancé spat, “Miss Mapleton, what Miss Mapleton, she’s Miss Alice Green; dashed unfriendly, considering we were almost.”

Sally nudged him in the ribs, “You weren’t, and please have some consideration for my feelings.”

“Got you,” Roderick shouted, “Edward, I’ve got her; I knew she was an imposter.” The queue for supper stopped and everyone stared at him, and her – it seemed as if accusing faces filled the room.

Now that you’ve read my hackery, please see the talented writers in Weekend Writing Warriors.

My apologies for creative punctuation.

Roderick is being a bit of a “puppy” here. I can’t completely blame him because Alice has lead him on a merry chase. The action in Bath is almost complete, setting up a surprise for when it resumes in “Part Trois.”

Puppy is an interesting insult. To call a man a puppy was to use fighting words. Why was that?

Inquiring minds want to know – what’s wrong with being a puppy?

From the 1811 “Dictionary of the vulgar tongue” Complied originally by Captain Grose and now considerably altered and enlarged, with the modern changes and improvements, by a member of The Whip Club. Assisted by Hell-Fire Dick, and James Gordon, Esqrs. of Cambridge; and William Soames, Esq. of the Hon. Society of Newman’s Hotel. Mr Soames, Esq. was most likely an actor.

DOG LATIN. Barbarous Latin, such as was formerly used
  by the lawyers in their pleadings.

DOGGESS, DOG'S WIFE or LADY, PUPPY'S MAMMA.
  Jocular ways of calling a woman a bitch.

PUPPY. An affected or conceited coxcomb.

Evidently dogs weren’t as popular as today. It adds a layer of complexity to the rather interesting dandy known as “Poodle Bynge.”

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.

Get Free Stuff and try out my landing page. There are three free complete short stories (including an ARC for Frankenkitty) available after you’ve gone through the hoops.

Elk Range Trail

The Elk Range Trail is a short (3.3 mile) trail in the Centennial Cone county park near Golden Colorado. Getting there is a scenic drive from the city, whether you use the twisty route 6 or the interstate 70, then cut north. Be warned, on weekends mountain biking and hiking pick alternate days (hikers on odd days, bikers on even ones).

We were doing a flying visit and so only had time to do an out and back walk, but the loop with the Travois trail would be even better.

Lookout Mountain is in the distance in this picture from the other car park.

Lookout Mountain, Golden Colorado.

While making a flying visit out west for various personal reasons, I had a chance to drive up to the top of Lookout Mountain near Golden Colorado. I had to be a tad careful on the road up the mountain as it is a popular (and dashed strenuous) bicycle ride. Wild Bill Hickock and his wife’s graves are at the top, but I didn’t feel like paying the $5 admission to the museum.

The views are fantastic.

This shows Golden, the Coors plant, and the Table Mesas. If you look carefully, you can see traces of the K-T boundary in the South Mesa (right hand one). They’re about as far down from the bottom of the cliff as the top is up. It’s a line in the vegetation where the discontinuity traps water or lets the roots grow deeper.

Denver
Wild Bill’s grave.

More views.

We did a bit of pub-crawling – which means something else when you’re walking this far from town to try the Cannonball Creek brewery.

The view from the Brewery back into Golden

A town scene. Historic means something else in the American west. Coming from the east where buildings are a touch older and knowing the UK pretty well – where things are truly old – I found this disorientating.

A wild sunflower.

(and by the way – a liter engined car is perfectly fine in the mountains – don’t let the rental people upsell you.)

The Art of Deception 35

The Art of Deception

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.

Get Free Stuff and try out my landing page. There are three free complete short stories (including an ARC for Frankenkitty) available after you’ve gone through the hoops.

Sunday Snippet, A Formulaic Romance, another installment.

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.

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.

The Art of Deception

or Pride and Extreme Prejudice

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A week with a motorcycle (almost)

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A Formulaic Romance

An Interruption, continued.

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The Art of Deception

or Pride and Extreme Prejudice

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The Art of Deception

or Pride and Extreme Prejudice

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A Formulaic Romance

An Interruption, continued.

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