Author: rharrisonauthor

Things start to get strange.

Following from the last installment:

Early that morning, while it was still dark, Elizabeth woke to the noise of something scrabbling at her window. She turned in bed to look at it, and then saw a thundering combination of flash and noise. She said to herself, “Must be a thunderstorm.” She rolled over and went back to sleep, ignoring the other claps of thunder that followed.

Indirect daylight was diffusing into her room when she woke in the morning. She leaped up, well rested, and dashed to the window to look at the view she could only see indistinctly the night before. It was, as Mary intimated the night before, lovely, striking, and indeed beautiful.

Even more striking, when she looked down at the farmyard below her, was her uncle. Walking back from the fields, he carried a large rifle and a shovel over his shoulder. He looked up and waved to her before he entered the house. She threw on her house-dress and dashed downstairs to catch him.

She found him in the kitchen, seated informally with Mary and George. She noted that his clothes were mucky, as though he’d been digging. Pouring himself a cup of tea, he offered her one. “We don’t stand much on formality here. I generally breakfast in the kitchen with my servants, but if you’d prefer to use the parlour?”

Elizabeth laughed, “No, this is fine. Better than fine, it’s cosy. What were you shooting? I think I heard you last night, unless it was a storm.”

Her uncle paused, “Rabbits. After the storm.”

“Rabbits?” Elizabeth pointed to a gun that was sitting in the corner. “With that?”

“Yes,”

“Isn’t it a bit big? It looks like my Cousin James’ service rifle. He said they used it to hunt elephants and buffalo when he was in Africa.”

“They were big rabbits.”

“They’d have to be. The cartridge is bigger than my finger. I wouldn’t think there’d be much left of a rabbit if you hit it. Even if it was a big rabbit.”

“If you must know, I used a shot-shell. Didn’t have the best of hunting, though, so it won’t be rabbit pie for dinner tonight.”

“That’s a shame. It looks like no rabbits and you slipped in the mud to boot.”

Mary asked, “Did you sleep well, Miss Elizabeth?”

“Other than that thunderstorm, like a baby. This is the first time I haven’t had my nightmares in a couple of years. Well, I did wake up to something scrabbling at my window, but that had to be mice.”

The next installment.

The start of the story can be found here.

This is the second installment of a story I’ve been working on that is set at a little farm near North Bovey. It’s set much later (1893) than my usual ones and has a strong science fiction backstory.

Her uncle walked to the trap and offered a hand to help her down, “You should call me Sylvester. Uncle Sylvester if you must. We’ll see, but I’m sure the fresh air and clean water of Dartmoor will help.”

He led her into the parlour and said, “You must be hungry, tea?”
“Yes, please. I mean, if it wouldn’t be a bother, Uncle.”
“It’s no bother for me,” he turned and shouted, “Mary! Tea please, in the parlour. My niece Elizabeth is finally here.” Then he explained to Elizabeth, “There’s no bell so I just shout for the servants. You’ve met George, my man-of-work. Mary is his wife and my housekeeper.”
While they waited for Mary, Uncle Sylvester played with a lamp, adjusting the wick and finally lighting it. A dim orange glow filled the room. “I’m afraid we’re not on the gas here. So kerosene lamps it is.”
Elizabeth said that would be fine.
“It’s either those or candles, but I have laid on water. At least when the pump works.”
Mary arrived with the tea tray. In addition to the teapot, she had put some scones on a plate. She curtsied and said, “Miss James, I hope you’ll find this to your liking.”
Uncle Sylvester said, “Mary, if you would see to Elizabeth’s needs. There is an experiment I must attend to. I shan’t be long and I should like to listen to those lungs of yours before you sleep.”
After her uncle left, Elizabeth asked Mary, “His laboratory? When my father said that, it usually meant he was dashing around the corner for a nip of brandy.”
“No Miss. If Dr Standfast says he’s in his laboratory, he’s working. He doesn’t drink like that.”
“A teetotaller?”
“Not quite Miss Elizabeth, he’s just temperate. I can’t imagine him sneaking off for a nip.”
“What’s so special about his laboratory?”
“Can’t say Miss Elizabeth. It’s private, maybe you should ask him.”
“I will. Thank you for the scones, I didn’t realize how hungry I was. It’s been a long trip.”
“From London and all, Miss. I shouldn’t wonder. I’d love to go to London, some day.”
Mary’s speculation about London ended when George dragged Elizabeth’s trunk inside. “Sorry Miss, I had to put the pony in his stall first. Mary, love, which room is hers?”
“Upstairs, left in back.” Mary turned to Elizabeth, “It has a lovely view, Miss and is away from the noise of the road.”
“What noise? It is so quiet here.”
George struggled with the trunk, mostly because the staircase was narrow and twisty, and he couldn’t stand straight to lift it properly. Mary led Elizabeth in his wake to the room her uncle had chosen for her. There was a small brass bedstead, a wardrobe and a table with the inevitable pitcher and basin. The chamber pot was under the bed where it should be. Elizabeth went to the window and gazed out. The stars shown above the line of hills and downs in the distance. Dim yellow lights showed where the village of North Bovey lay to the North. Rather more light, to the East, showed the town of Moreton Hampstead.
Elizabeth said, “It’s perfect.”
“Yes, Miss.” Mary paused, “George, Miss Elizabeth should get her rest.”
“Oh, right.” George bowed slightly and tipped his forehead in a salute. “Sleep well, and if you want to tour the farm, let me know in the morning and I’ll get the Tilbury ready.”
“I shall, but you know it depends on what Uncle says.”
Mary bustled her husband out of the room, and then helped Elizabeth to open her trunk. They found her nightdress. Then she helped Elizabeth out of her dress and the corset she wore beneath it.
“Miss,” she asked, “Your arms, all those bruises, what did you do to them?”
“I don’t know. I think I knocked them on my bedstead when I had a nightmare. I have bad nightmares.”
“Then I hope you sleep well here and have no nightmares.”
“So do I.”
Uncle Sylvester knocked on the door. “When you are ready, I’d like to listen to that chest, and you can tell me about these nightmares.”
A few minutes later, once Elizabeth wore her nightdress, they let him in. He too, noticed the bruises on Elizabeth’s arms, and frowned at the story Mary repeated to him.
“Interesting,” he said, “How often did you have those nightmares?”
“Every two weeks, it was like a clock.”
He nodded, and then said, “I think you’ll find the fresh air and good food of Dartmoor will banish those. Let me hear your chest.”
He pulled a stethoscope from his pocket, explaining, “I had to get this from the laboratory. It’s probably best if you’d sit on the edge of the bed.”
Elizabeth sat and he sat behind her. Mary, still there for proprieties sake, watched as he slid the chestpiece along Elizabeth’s back, asked her to breathe deeply and listened. Then he thumped her back while he carefully listened.
“Interesting, interesting, interesting.” He paused, “I don’t think I need to listen to the front of your chest.” Then he stood up and walked to the window. He stared out at the stars for a few moments of intense thought, and then, finally, turned around and said, “How long have you had this consumption?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve been weak for the last year, and coughing for almost as long.”
“When did the nightmare’s start?”
“About the same time. After he examined me, Mr Harvey told me it was because I couldn’t breathe well. When I struggled for breath, I’d have the dreams.”
Her uncle nodded, “It could be. When did the bruises start?”
“At least a year ago, about the same time. What is it?”
Uncle Sylvester frowned, “I’m not sure.” Then he smiled at her, “But whatever it is, your parents did the right thing to send you here. Get some sleep and we’ll see how you feel in the morning.” He paused again and said, “Mary, before you go, make sure the windows are fastened tight, locked. Elizabeth shouldn’t breathe the chill night air. By the way, Elizabeth, how long has it been since your last nightmare?”
“Two weeks.”
Her uncle frowned again, but said nothing more and shut the door as he left.

The next installment.