Leonora Speyer
I Woke: —
Night, lingering, poured upon the world
Of drowsy hill and wood and lake
Her moon-song,
And the breeze accompanied with hushed fingers
On the birches.
Gently the dawn held out to me
A golden handful of bird’s-notes.
Leonora Speyer
I Woke: —
Night, lingering, poured upon the world
Of drowsy hill and wood and lake
Her moon-song,
And the breeze accompanied with hushed fingers
On the birches.
Gently the dawn held out to me
A golden handful of bird’s-notes.
The start of the story can be found here.
Following from the last installment: Dr Standfast has just committed a poor unfortunate to Princeton Gaol. Something else is up.
Saying, “I should have known,” he dashed to the fire and tossed it in. There was a greenish flash and it vanished in a puff of acrid smoke.
“Uncle! I liked that. It was pretty.”
“Let me get you another. Much nicer, and it’s been in the family for a while. Time you should have it.” Moving quickly, for an ostensibly tired old man, he ran upstairs and a moment later returned. “This one’s solid gold, not paste.”
Elizabeth took it from him and examined it closely. It was, if anything, more ornate than her old one. More interestingly, it was covered in writing. Writing in a script she couldn’t recognize.
“Uncle,” she said, “Do you know what it says?”
“Some of it, but my Aldebaran isn’t as good as it used to be.”
“Aldebaran?”
“A dialect of Arabic, from Timbuktu. Or somewhere like that. It’s mostly for good luck. A verse from the Koran, intended to ward off the evil eye. Superstitious twaddle of course, but I’d feel happier if you’d wear it. Wear it all the time.”
“If you insist.” Elizabeth put it on and felt a warm glow come over her. “Thank you.”
“Excellent, now shall we see what the industrious Mrs Trent has prepared for dinner?”
“You know Uncle, there might be something to that superstition. I’m feeling stronger already.” A thought struck her, and she paused, “Uncle, what did that man do?”
“Which man?”
“The one you committed.”
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth, but not before dinner. Spoil your appetite. Funny thing, he claimed he was from another planet. Stuff and nonsense.”
“So it wasn’t hard then, to prove he was insane.”
“Not at all, he was decidedly not a normal person. Tried to bite Sergeant Hopwell and snarled at us in an incomprehensible language.”
Elizabeth started walking into the back parlour, and the asked, “Was it safe to keep him here if he were so dangerous?”
“Being an alienist, I have the facilities to restrain, um, difficult patients. George kept watch, so yes, I’d say it was safe.”
“If you say so, Uncle.”
“I do. By the way, George will be in your room this afternoon. Replacing that broken window pane and fixing the lock. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, what happened to it?”
“Don’t you know?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I did.”
“Someone must have thrown a pebble from the street. The pane was broken, and the lock, well, it needed replacing in any case.”
That’s the end of this chapter. We’ll pick up at the beginning of the next with the next installment.
Finally, my booktrope book is online. The Curious Profession of Dr. Craven

What is a poor anatomist to do? Twenty pounds, wasted, up in smoke when a beautiful young woman wakes up on the dissection table. Someone has made a ghastly error. Dr Richard Craven, an ethical doctor, has but one choice, to nurse the girl back to health and restore her to her family. That’s when his troubles start. She can’t remember anything, only her first name, and she isn’t even sure about that. As his household helps her to recover her strength and her memories trickle, then flood back, their mutual attraction buds into a flowing passion.
Unfortunately one of the things she’s conveniently forgotten was her arranged engagement to a vulgar, but wealthy son of a Northern industrialist. Not only that, but there is some deep dark secret about Dr Craven that her father believes makes him completely ineligible.
Resolving the resulting tangle in this sweet historical romance takes the combined efforts of the doctor’s once profligate brother, the Earl of Craven, a displaced French Royal, le Duc de Bourbon, and the visit of a mysterious French Baron to the sacred floor or Almack’s.
Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors. This is a sample from my work in progress, “Frankenkitty”, and I hope you enjoy it. It started out as a young-adult superhero book, and well, you’ll see. In last week’s snippet, Amber gave Mrs Jones a sample of the pink solution. This week starts with the girls in study hall, wondering what to do next.
“What did the book say?”
“It didn’t; he had to wait for the next thunderstorm.”
Mary cocked her head, trying to remember something she’d read, “Lightening; there was something odd about it; not just a big electric spark.”
A boy, one who was not very handsome, a rather gangly, spotty, and very shy fifteen year old, who had been sitting on the table near them, spoke up, “Anti-matter; there’s anti-matter in lightning.”
“Jimmy?” Jennifer recognized the boy from her neighborhood. He’d been quietly sitting next to them, almost every study hall for the whole term; hoping for a chance to exchange a word or two.
Jimmy turned away and looked at the book he was reading. Jennifer persisted, “Jimmy, what did you say?”
Jimmy’s right, by the way, there are positrons produced by lightning.
This is a work in progress. In other news, I’ve become a booktrope author, but more on that latter. It has meant a change in pen-name.
I’m also looking for reviewers for my nearly ready book “The Curious Profession of Dr. Craven” It’s moved out of layout to final assembly, and is now waiting only on the final cover. There was a bit of a hiccough in production, but that’s sorted out.
Get Free Stuff and try out my landing page. There are two free complete short stories available after you’ve gone through the hoops.
Watch the webpage.At some stage I’ll be moving from wordpress.com to another host (google analytics and sumo plugs, please, for free, maybe). That also gives me the ability to host unlinked pages and multiple websites. The free templates tend to be wonky, so I’ll probably roll my own.
Many of you have written or commented to tell us how much you liked Ian Stewart’s original tutorial, “How To Create a WordPress Theme: The Ultimate WordPress Theme Tutorial”. You’ll be happy to learn that that we’ve created a second edition of the tutorial! Just like last time, you can expect one new lesson each day. What’s changed in the second edition? Keep reading to find out!
What’s new in the Second Edition:
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Emily Dickinson, 1830 – 1886
I’ll tell you how the sun rose, —
A ribbon at a time.
The steeples swam in amethyst,
The news like squirrels ran.
The hills untied their bonnets,
The bobolinks begun.
Then I said softly to myself,
“That must have been the sun!”
But how he set, I know not.
There seemed a purple stile
Which little yellow boys and girls
Were climbing all the while
Till when they reached the other side,
A dominie in gray
Put gently up the evening bars,
And led the flock away.
Robert Frost, 1874 – 1963
If tired of trees I seek again mankind,
Well I know where to hie me—in the dawn,
To a slope where the cattle keep the lawn.
There amid lolling juniper reclined,
Myself unseen, I see in white defined
Far off the homes of men, and farther still
The graves of men on an opposing hill,
Living or dead, whichever are to mind.
And if by noon I have too much of these,
I have but to turn on my arm, and lo,
The sunburned hillside sets my face aglow,
My breathing shakes the bluet like a breeze,
I smell the earth, I smell the bruisèd plant,
I look into the crater of the ant.
The start of the story can be found here.
Following from the last installment: Elizabeth overdid it on a visit to the exciting hamlet of Moreton Hampstead, and is ill. Mary has tucked her up in bed.
“I suppose I’m just tired and seeing things.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it, Miss Elizabeth. See what you feel like when it’s time for supper.”
Elizabeth was sound asleep when it was time for supper. So sound asleep that they left her sleeping while they ate. When her uncle and Mary looked in at her at dusk, he said, “Mary, I would like you to sit up with Elizabeth. Come find me if she has difficulty breathing. Poor girl, she must be exhausted, shouldn’t have sent her to town today.”
Mary saw the concern in his face and said, “I’ll keep an eye on her, but I’m sure she’ll be fine.” It took her no little effort to keep the doubt from her voice.
“I hope so. I’m not sure our visitors won’t be back. Best to be prepared.”
Mary nodded. While she didn’t like it, she understood what he meant.
Elizabeth finally stirred in the middle of the night. The noise at the window, the noise of cutting glass and working on the lock, awoke her. It also awoke Mary, who stood and pointed something at the window. Whatever it was, it gave an incomprehensible shout and then jumped off the window. Elizabeth drifted back to sleep and missed the noise from the outside when her uncle said, “Got you, you bugger.”
When she finally awoke in the morning, Elizabeth still felt weak. So her uncle bundled her in a quilt and sat her in front of a fire in the parlour. He said, “Best if you take it easy today, my dear Elizabeth. Have a valetudinarian morning, if not an entire day.”
Elizabeth was in no shape to argue, and honestly enjoyed trying to read a novel, something by Trollope, while she stared at the flickering flames of the fire. It wasn’t until Mary came in and asked if she’d like some tea, that she said, “Mrs Trent, I had the oddest dream last night.”
“You did?”
“Yes, you were in it. There was a noise at the window.”
Mary stiffened, “There was?”
“Yes, and you were watching me, from a chair in my room. You stood up and pointed a rifle at the window. There was a scream. It sounded like nothing on Earth.” Elizabeth paused, “Then, well, I forget the rest. But it seemed so real.”
“You have a vivid imagination Miss Elizabeth. I did spend the night in your room, in case you took a turn for the worse. Whatever would I be doing with a rifle, now?”
Elizabeth looked at Mary and noticed, at last, how tired she looked, “Are you well, don’t you need to rest now?”
Mary said, “Nay lass. I’ve been up longer at lambing season. Have to keep something ready for George at all hours. I’ll catch my rest in between. Did you want that tea?”
“Yes, please. Oh, have you seen my Uncle? I’d like to thank him for the novel.”
“He’s gone into town Miss. Had to send a telegram, and said he’d be back for dinner.”
Elizabeth felt decidedly restless by mid-day, so she moved to a chair where she could see outside. Shortly after that, she saw Uncle Sylvester ride at a canter to the stable, dismount, and walk his horse inside. She waved when she saw him, and he waved back. Before he could come to the house and chat, a dark black closed carriage, one with bars on the windows and an armed guard as well as a driver pulled up. While the driver steadied the team of four strong horses, the guard climbed down and walked into the stables. A few moments later, both the guard and Uncle Sylvester reappeared. They escorted a short, stout, and decidedly foreign looking man to the back of the carriage. The guard unlocked the back and opened the door. Over the man’s objections and struggles, they forced him inside. After that, the guard locked the carriage. He and her uncle chatted. The guard climbed back onto the carriage and with a shout it was off. The entire episode was over in a matter of a few minutes.
When her uncle came in, Elizabeth said, “What was that about?”
Normally abstemious, her uncle went to the sideboard and poured himself a large tot of whiskey. Then he tossed it off as though it were water. “You saw?”
“The black carriage and the man.”
Uncle Sylvester sighed, “Poor fellow, criminally insane.” He paused, “After what he did last night, it was best to keep him here until he could be picked up. That was his transport to Princeton. The Queen’s prison for the worst offenders.”
“Is that why you were in town?”
“Yes, and it’s why,” he paused to pour himself another drink, “I’m having this. I always feel dirty when I commit someone.”
“I thought you were just a doctor.”
“I am, but I’m the closest thing to an alienist in this part of Dartmoor. When there’s trouble, I am called to certify insanity. I testified this morning, along with Sergeant Hopwell, to the magistrate, and they took the poor fellow away. It’s not likely he’ll recover his wits, so they’ll lock him up and throw away the key.” He stared out the window and muttered, “I wish there was something I could do about it. There ought to be something besides locking them up.” Then he shrugged, and asked Elizabeth, “Can I see that bracelet of yours?”
“This one?” Elizabeth took off an ornate chain bracelet. “I like it, but it’s just a bit of trumpery I bought from a street seller. He said it would give me good luck.” She handed it to her uncle. To her surprise, he snatched it from her hand, took it to the window and examined it closely.
Saying, “I should have known,” he dashed to the fire and tossed it in. There was a greenish flash and it vanished in a puff of acrid smoke.
The next installment.
Image courtesy of http://www.inverarayjail.co.uk
Two New Year’s recipes.
Traditional food that’s good tasting.

Hoppin’ John is a traditional Southern dish using blackeyed peas and smoked ham hocks. It’s an example of “poor food” that is both good and fills a cultural niche. Eat this on January first and the rest of the year you’ll eat better. Well maybe, I think it’s pretty darn good no matter when you eat it.
Put the ingredients in a pot, typically the one you saute’ed the onions in, and add enough water to cover the peas with about one inch to spare.

Bring to a boil and simmer until done. It takes several hours for the meat and beans to be completely done with the meat falling off the bone. Periodically stir, and add more water if needed. I adjust the amounts of mustard and hot sauce to taste. This example is a bit rich in ham hocks because they came in a pack of three.

Stella’s Polish Cabbage is a family recipe from my Irish mother-in-law. She figured out how to cook cabbage the way her husband, a Polish pilot in the RAF during world war 2, liked. My English wife has always called it “Polish Cabbage.” It’s not particularly New Year’s food, but goes exceedingly well with Hoppin’ John.
Thoroughly rinse the cabbage, to remove the excess salt. Saute the onion in the butter and oil mixture. When it is past the wilt stage add the cabbage and cover.
The cabbage will give off water as it wilts. The mixture will rapidly lose about half its volume. Stir to prevent scorching and periodically add a few tablespoons of water. The amount isn’t critical, you need enough to keep it from burning, and it will evaporate over time.
For the next hour, until thoroughly done, simmer over a low heat. Periodically stir and refresh water.