Tag: England

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 Roderick and Alice had a chance to talk. Both dodged around the questions they truly wanted to ask. This week’s snippet takes up at the Wednesday concert. Mr King, the “King of Bath,” has called the crowd to order and announced that Signora Catalani will begin her performance shortly.

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General Dumouriez expertly culled Alice from the herd, “Mademoiselle, would you care to honour me with your company?”

Alice glanced at Miss Aldershot, who nodded her agreement, “Why certainly, I’m not sure I caught your name when we met several days ago.”

“General Charles Dumouriez, a votre service,” He bowed, keeping his eyes on hers, except when he glanced lower and smiled; he liked what he saw, and anticipated a better view later in the evening.

“That’s what I remembered,” Alice curtsied, “Shall we find seats?”

Roderick watched them, trying to stay within earshot, and hoping that she would betray herself in an unguarded moment; they found a pair of seats midway to the front; he sat several rows behind, just within earshot, and what he heard was disquieting.

“Mademoiselle, I must say that you have ankles, très charmant.”

Alice involuntarily clenched her knees together but replied, in French, “Thank you, but I was wondering how well you knew Mr Stanton?”

“Monsieur Stanton, who?”

“Monsieur Roderick Stanton.”

“Oh Roddy, a good man, but enough about him; has anyone told you that you have beautiful eyes; almost as pretty as those luscious lips or that-”

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

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My apologies for creative punctuation.

First, many excellent and one so-so author are featured in this:

 

Signora Angelica Catalani (whose head adorns the post) was an exceedingly gifted singer. She somehow escaped Napoleon’s clutches to sing at the King’s theater in London in 1804. After that she went on farewell tours. Eventually she did return to Europe. While I can’t definitively place her in Bath at this time, she certainly could have been there. In any case the money was right and Wednesday night was concert night. As opposed to dress balls on Monday and fancy balls on Thursday.

I also get the impression, from looking at etchings of the time (thank you Google image search) that she was something of a pin-up girl and adorned many a college room – although decently clothed.

The Mr King I refer to was the master of ceremonies at the Bath Assembly. First the lower assembly and eventually the upper one. In true English fashion, the upper assembly was uphill from the lower 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.

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.

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, the Alice and Lucy discussed the Roderick and Edward with Lucy’s “Aunt Heather.” Roderick and Edward arrived to escort the women to dinner at the York. They are too early, and in the meantime Roderick (Mr Stanton) takes Alice for a walk to inspect the preparations.

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Alice brightened, “Yes, there is that; shall we?” Mr Stanton offered his arm to support her, and she gladly took it.

“Thank you for stopping my horse; I hope I wasn’t ungracious.”

“Not at all; a bolting horse is always a shock; I’m just glad I was there in time.”

Yes, how did you know to be there, I thought you were ill.  “I’m not sure that having you and Mr Spode host our dinner is exactly the best way to say thank you.”

“It was Edward’s idea; To impress Miss Haytor,” my feelings had nothing to do with it; nothing!

Alice stopped, disengaged her arm from his and turned to face him, “Are you sure, Monsieur, that there is nothing you want to tell me.”

Yes, no, “Nothing other than to ask you what wine you would prefer with your meal.”

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

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My apologies for creative punctuation.

The York still exists. Unfortunately, it’s been bought by an American chain – Travelodge. So the famous “York Family Hotel” is now run by the same company as Motel 6.

I may be a little late at replying to comments this weekend. Taking my Motorcycle Safety Foundation “Basic Rider Course.” Uneasy Rider strikes again. Serious accident rates with motorcycles are more than ten times lower than just riding horses and about a thousand times lower than horse racing (and the training cuts the accident rate even further).

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.

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 (I didn’t count correctly, so it became a bigger sunday snippet.) Roderick and Edward discussed the evening ahead, and that their rooms had been searched. This ten line extract shows the other side’s opinions of the state of affairs.

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Lucy knocked on the door and came in, “I’d say he’s unusual; Did Alice tell you he saved her life this afternoon?”

“He did, how?”

“My horse bolted for her barn; he helped me get the screw under control”

“Oh … I presume he is an adequate horseman.”

“An excellent one.”

“Then I wonder how he is with his lock picks; he had a full set of screws and burglars’ tools; the only thing missing was a jemmy.”

“Did you find anything else?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

Lucy continued, “Edward and Mr Stanton wished that we would join them for dinner; I think Edward wants to ask me something.”

Alice rolled her eyes; then she glanced at Martha; it was clear she was equally amused.

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

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My apologies for creative punctuation.

The featured image shows historic lockpicks. Isn’t it interesting that you can refer to a poor excuse for a horse as a ‘screw’ and the word at the time for a lock pick was also a ‘screw’? The most common mechanism for locks has changed since the early 1800’s and with that the form of the picks. The two ninety degree bent objects on the left of the image above are the most important part of a lockpicking kit – tension bars. You use them to place the lock in “tension” so that the pins can be adjusted until it opens. Unlike Hollywood, you can’t just use a pick on its own. The actual “pick” itself isn’t as critical. I’ve had best luck with the feelers (picks 1 and 4) but the others work – especially if you’re better at it than I am. If you have a tension bar, you can improvise a pick from almost anything you can reliably shove in the lock cylinder. One of the more amusing examples is a strip cut from the lid of a can of cat food.

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.

The Art of Deception

or Pride and Extreme Prejudice

This started out as a weekend writing warriors post, but like most mathematicians I can’t count and put in 11 lines instead of 10 (ARRGH). It continues a spy story set in late Georgian England, the year before Trafalgar. Last week, Roderick arranged for Alice’s horse to misbehave. This week shows the two men discussing the afternoon. Since space no longer prohibits me from putting in that Mr Spode disapproved of his friend’s use of “a bolus prepared by my friends” to figg Alice’s otherwise tame mount I added a fair bit to the snippet to round it out. While crude, this put the women under a social obligation – one can’t cut off the man who rescued you. Mr Spode is struggling with his tie at the start of this excerpt.

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Roderick stood in the doorway to Mr Spodes’ room, watching him finish with his neck cloth, “You really should stick to the coachman; simple, elegant and easy to tie.”

“Not this time … a waterfall or nothing.”

“The way you’re going, nothing … by the way, was your room searched this afternoon?”

“What?”

“Mine was; expertly, whoever did it knew how to replace a chip, and even noticed the tell-tale hair I’d placed on my dresser door.”

“Really?”

“Had they not disturbed my screws I’d never have known.”

“Can’t have been that Miss Mapleton you’ve been on about; both she and Lucinda were with me all afternoon.”

“I know.”

“That Aunt; I don’t like the look of her.”

“Could be, I inquired and there was an older servant looking around the inn this afternoon.”

“Hmmn, I suppose. Wouldn’t put it past her. Two of them working together?”

“Probably the three of them, Edward. Don’t say I didn’t warn you when they’re all in the Tower.”

“Right, I still can’t believe Miss Haytor is involved. She’s such an innocent. What did you find with your, ah, explorations?”

“That was also interesting. The dashing young Miss Mapleton left a chip in her wardrobe door. Had a devil of a time replacing it. Other than that nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing, no letters, no diary, no nothing. Not even a lock of hair from an old school friend. Dashed odd of a female, you know. The Aunt’s room and Miss Haytor’s were the same. Except their chips were easier to replace.”

“You have a suspicious mind Roddy. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must concentrate on this waterfall.”

A few moments later Edward examined his work in the mirror. “Not perfect, but close enough. Where were we going to host dinner?”

“I arranged for a parlour at the York. Neutral ground as it were.”

“Excellent, I’ve heard good things about their chef. Shall we meet Miss Haytor and party? With your heroic ride this afternoon, they cannot refuse our company.”

Roderick smiled, “Yes. Worked out rather well, didn’t that?”

“What did you do?” Edward was suddenly attentive to his friends’ words.

“An old horsecoper’s trick.”

“You didn’t ginger up[1] Miss Mapleton’s mount? I mean that’s just not done, figging a horse … she could have been hurt, killed.”

“Didn’t use ginger, but, ah, yes something like that. A special bolus prepared by my … acquaintances. Worked out well, so what’s the problem?”

Edward shook his head, disapproving of his friends’ activities.

“All’s fair.”

“No it dashed well isn’t. Ungentlemanly of you. Not good for the poor horse either.”

“You’re right, but I had to rig something, and at the time that was the best option. Shall we meander?”

Edward paused, “I’m not sure I can associate with you Lord Fitzpatrick. That was ungentlemanly.”

“She’s a French spy, I’m an agent. You know both sides will do what they need to do. She’d have done the same, or worse, to me had she the chance.”

“And you’re going to eat with her?”

“Why not? It isn’t as if she’ll poison us, and this way I can keep an eye on her.”

“Are you sure?”

“That’s part, no most, of the reason that I booked a parlour at the York – and did not tell them where we were dining. I’m sure they’re waiting for us, expectantly. On tenterhooks as it were.”

[1]          Gingering up is a modern term, historically it was known as figging. The idea is to stuff a stimulant such as ginger, tobacco or hot peppers into the rear end of the horse in order to give it “pep.” It is a cruel thing to do, but effective.

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

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My apologies for creative punctuation.

The featured image, from Punch in 1859, shows the way the Victorians thought about Regency fashion. They considered it hopelessly old-fashioned and restrictive. Neckclothitania is a book entirely devoted to the art of tying “starchers.” While I’m a fan of knots and knot theory, as I sit here in my formal “HackGSU” t-shirt, I can’t help but be glad that I don’t have to tie these things.

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.

The Art of Deception

or Pride and Extreme Prejudice

Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors.   This week continues a spy story set in late Georgian England, the year before Trafalgar. Last week, Mr Spode took Lucy and  Alice for a ride. His, and their, plan was to provide a distraction to cover a room search.  They’ve reached the monument and are on the way back when Alice discovers her horse isn’t quite as suitable for young ladies and invalids as she thought.

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Her mare, realizing that this was now the return journey and that she was in front, took off; first at a trot, then a canter and finally, when a dog from one of the farms by the lane barked at her, a full-fledged gallop; Alice was no mean horsewoman, but riding a bolting horse is never easy or enjoyable.

Fortunately, a man who was riding a horse uphill in front of her, realized what was happening and urged his horse to the rescue; as she bolted past him, he galloped along her left side and by urging his horse to turn to the right eventually forced the two animals into a field; they circled, in successively smaller circles, until her mare calmed.

Finally able to look up from trying to control her mare, Alice turned to thank her saviour, “Mr Stanton! What are you doing here? I thought you were ill.”

“Well, I have felt better, but a change of air seemed an excellent idea; I remembered that your party was bound for the monument and decided to seek your company.”

“I’m glad you found me,” Alice was still a little breathless, “I’m not sure what I would have done.”

“You were holding your own; I haven’t seen such a fine display of horsemanship in a long while.”

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

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My apologies for creative punctuation.

You may wonder how Roderick could arrange for Alice’s slug of a horse to bolt. It’s not as if he could put corundum powder on the steering gear (as in an Inspector Foyle story) or let most of the petrol out of the tank as Jeeves does in “the old school chum.” He couldn’t arrange for the horse specifically to bolt, but he could ensure that there would be some crisis or another by “figging” or “gingering up” the horse. Figging is an old horse cooper’s trick where an irritant is shoved up the horse’s backside. It gives the animal the appearance of spirit and was used to pass off an old or sick animal as healthy. Needless to say, it is unethical and cruel. People still occasionally try it in dressage where the conformation of the horse’s tail is important. It’s also, apparently, a common practice in BDSM – at least to judge from what I found when I searched for a relevant illustration. Roderick only uses it because he believes he is chasing a French spy – a serious matter. After all, she’d do the same, or worse, to him if she had the chance.

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.

The Art of Deception

or Pride and Extreme Prejudice

Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors.   This week continues a spy story set in late Georgian England, the year before Trafalgar. Last week Lucy received an invitation to go for a ride. In a 1920’s gangster book that would seem a tad sinister, but this is just on horses, properly chaperoned, and to a civil war monument. They’ve decided this is an excellent opportunity for Miss Aldershot to investigate the men’s rooms at the Pelican. Unfortunately, Mr Stanton is ill, the sausage having disagreed with him.

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Alice’s frustration with her horse showed, “I see these are gentle beasts, suitable for young ladies and other invalids.”

Edward smiled, “It will leave us with the time for conversation, and I should never forgive myself if Miss Haytor’s mount should bolt.”

“Thank you for considering my comfort.”

“These slugs, bolt? Not likely.” Alice was still not amused with the horses; her mare spotted a stray cur and sidled with a loud snort of displeasure; she pulled its reins and the horse quieted, “At least this one shows a little spirit.” She glanced at the groom, “but no manners.”

He ignored her.

After they had ridden off, a plainly dressed, middle-aged woman left the Christopher, bound for the Pelican; on the way she passed a rather good looking, similarly disguised, man heading the opposite direction; neither one of them noticed the other.

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

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My apologies for creative punctuation.

Having women ride astride is a very common error in historical films. Women generally rode sidesaddle. There were practical reasons for this as what the English call “pants” weren’t worn by the gentle gender. They did have leggings and stockings, but wore something closer to a suspender belt than modern undergarments. (for what it’s worth men wore something much like a cross between modern swimming trunks and “boxers”, with a drawstring and without the mesh inside.) Personally, the few times I’ve been on horseback I’ve been very glad to have both feet in stirrups and being able to grab the horses’ back between my knees. I can’t imagine what it was like to sit sideways. The young lady in the cartoon is “fast” and the Tar knows it. The featured image shows what could be done, if you had the guts. (If you look carefully, she’s raised from the seat and having significant “air time!”)

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.

The Art of Deception

or Pride and Extreme Prejudice

Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors.   This week continues a spy story set in late Georgian England, the year before Trafalgar. Last week the two men discussed Lucy and Alice as they trudged back to the Pelican for a supper of dubious sausages washed down with excellent beer. Their discussion has borne fruit this week when Lucy receives an invitation for an excursion.

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A message awaited Miss Haytor when she awoke Tuesday, “Mr Spode invites her and a companion, to ride with him and Mr Stanton; perhaps to see the Grenville monument, but certainly to take some exercise in the fresh air, away from the smells and smoke of Bath.”

“Could we?”

Miss Aldershot studied Lucinda, “What else does it say?”

“Merely that if riding were out of the question, he could hire a chariot; failing that, he’d meet us at the Bath; I should so like to ride.”

She stalled for time to think, “What do you think Alice?”

“It would get the two of them away from the Pelican; I’d be happy to, um, investigate their rooms while they are … detained by other activities.”

Martha smiled, “That is an idea, but no; I think it best, Alice, that I investigate your friends; you’ll enjoy the ride far more than I ever could and that dashing Mr Stanton won’t be tempted to cry off if you’re there.”

“If you insist.”

“I do, besides people are far less likely to remember a frumpy old maid poking around the Pelican than a pretty young thing like you.”

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

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My apologies for creative punctuation.

Sir Bevill Grenville fought for the royalists at the battle of Landsdown during the English civil war. The parliamentarian army camped on the hill overlooking Bath. Sir Bevill died, leading his regiment of Cornish pikemen, in fierce hand to hand combat. Unfortunately, for the royalists that is, they lost. This battle was one of several turning points in the civil war. Had the royalists won, they would have held onto the southwest. His good friend, the poet William Cartwright – who would also die fighting for the royal side, wrote the elegy that is inscribed on the column.

This was not Nature’s courage nor that thing,
We valour call which Time and Reason bring,
But a diviner fury fierce and high,
Valour transported into Ecstasy. 

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.