Tag: WIP

Sunday Service.

 The start of the story can be found here.

Following from the last section
A new chapter. Sylvester insists on attending Sunday service.

---

Uncle Sylvester knocked on Elizabeth’s door in the morning. “Sleep well?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. It’s Sunday and that means church. Time to rise.”

Elizabeth threw on her house dress and descended for breakfast. “Uncle, where are Mr and Mrs Trent?” She helped herself to the porridge that burbled on the range.

“They’re non-conformists, dissenters. I let them use the trap. Don’t like Sunday travelling as a rule myself, but they have an excuse. We’ll walk to St. Michael’s in North Bovey. It’s not far. Unless you’re still feeling weak.”

She smiled, “I haven’t felt this strong in at least a year. You were right about the value of country air. What’s wrong with travel on Sunday’s?”

“I may be old-fashioned, but Sunday is meant to be a day of rest. I don’t travel unless I must. Which reminds me, I’ll need my bag. I must see a patient after service. Doctors don’t always have the privilege of a rest on the sabbath.”

Elizabeth sat with her uncle through the service. He sat bolt upright throughout, alert even when the vicar lulled most of his congregation to sleep with a 45 minute long digression into the home life of the Assyrians, Persians and Medes, finally ending up with the mene, mene, tekel, and upharsin verse from the book of Daniel. Her uncle’s loud voice echoed, only slightly off-key, through the church during the hymns.

Afterwards, he congratulated the vicar, “Excellent sermon, Dr Grace, most entertaining.”

“I may have been a mite too long. Especially on such a warm morning. I could see some of my congregation nodding off.”

“Stuff and nonsense, I felt as though I were back in Nineveh. Those were great times. Much younger then.” He stopped in thought, and then seeing a middle-aged woman and her daughter, shot off to them. “Mrs Grace. I am so pleased to see you. Have you recovered?”

“Yes, Dr Standfast, I’m much better now.”

“Capital, not that my medicine did anything, but capital nonetheless. I have a visitor from the city, my niece,
Miss James. She’s about your Lucy’s age.”

“I should think Lucy would be overjoyed to have a new companion. Miss James is educated?”

“Surprisingly well – even with the poor quality of city schools these days,” He paused, and then called,

“Elizabeth, please come here.”
Elizabeth stopped looking at the flowers and trotted over to where her uncle was conversing.

“Elizabeth, may I present Mrs Grace and her daughter, Miss Lucinda Grace.” Lucinda, Lucy to her friends, was a healthy young woman, with light brown hair, and a more sunburnt robust complexion than Elizabeth’s. Her father had seen to it that she was well educated, or at least as well educated as a country vicar of a remote parish could afford. While she shared many interests, such as horses and riding, not to mention young men, with the young ladies of the parish, she also had something of a literary and cultured, if not to say romantic outlook. Sometimes it made her seem standoffish, above her peers, when she meant nothing of the sort. Still, her all too few terms away at school had driven a wedge between her and the girls she had played with as a young child.

Lucy examined Elizabeth and liked what she saw, “Miss James, may I call you Elizabeth?”

“If I may call you Lucinda, Miss Grace.”

“Lucy, please.”

After making their excuses to Dr Standfast and Mrs Grace, the two young women wandered off to the far side of the churchyard for a private chat.

Sylvester said to Mrs Grace, “It looks like they will like each other. Do you mind if I leave Miss James with you? I must check on how poor Mrs Willis is getting on. She wasn’t at service, which is not at all like her.”

“Why ever should that matter, Dr Standfast? I’ll let your niece know where you’ve gone.”

“Thank you. Oh, and please remind Miss James to stop by Barnecourt to change if she and Miss Grace decide to go for a ramble. That London dress of hers would not last long in the briers.”

Mrs Grace smiled at him, her Lucy often needed the same reminder. “I’ll send them along, and just hope they don’t wander off on the way.”

---

The next installment.
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The Aldebaran Connection.

 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.

Elizabeth has a disturbed night.

 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

---

Things get a tad more strange.

Following from the last installment: A new chapter. The start of the story can be found here.

Chapter 2.

Elizabeth was glad enough of her waterproof by the time they arrived back at her uncle’s house in Barnecourt. A rain squall had blown through, and even though she’d managed to put the cloak on, her dress was soaked. So was Mary’s but she laughed it off. Elizabeth just sat there and shivered. Unfortunately, their pony could only pull the trap slowly up the steep hills between Moreton Hampstead and Barnecourt. Elizabeth wondered if it would be faster to get out and walk. It hadn’t mattered the day before when the weather was fair and the scenery novel.

“My dear niece,” her uncle said, when they finally arrived at the house. “You look positively blue with the cold. Come into the kitchen and warm yourself.” He bustled her inside to the stove, where a few coals kept the boiler warm. “Are you feeling well?”

“Cold,” Elizabeth’s teeth chattered, and she had a short coughing spell.

“Had I known the weather would turn, I’d have never let you go in the open trap.” He put a couple more pieces of coal in the stove and stirred it up to get the fire going. “Hope I don’t put it out. Mary’s the expert with this dratted contraption.”

The warm close air of the kitchen helped Elizabeth, and after a few minutes she stopped shaking. She did not stop coughing.

Uncle Sylvester listened to the cough, and balanced the administration of a tot of warm whiskey against the alternative of a dose of Ipecac. Finally, he asked Elizabeth, “Has Ipecac ever helped your cough?”

She shook her head, “No!”

“Then whiskey it is. A touch of honey mixed in sometimes helps.” He went off to prepare the medicine. By the time he returned, Mary had arrived and produced a bowl of hot water. Elizabeth sat with her head over it, wrapped in a towel and inhaling the steam. Mary looked up at him when he returned and said, “Whiskey, is that all you doctors ever think about? Cut some thyme from the garden, and I’ll put it in the bowl with the steam.”

The warm moist aromatic mixture soon soothed Elizabeth’s cough. Her uncle took one look at her, and said, “Bed. You need your rest. … Mary, will you see that she’s tucked in and warm? I must see to my laboratory; things are afoot.” He dashed out.

Mary smiled at her charge and added, “I could give you some broth, or would you prefer to just sleep?”

“I’ll go to sleep, and maybe then I’ll be able to join you for supper.”

On the way upstairs, Elizabeth stopped for a breath and said, “Is my uncle always so odd, distracted?”

Mary chuckled, “Not usually. He must be hard at work on something. We’ll probably hear it soon enough – when it explodes.”

“Does he always make things explode?”

Mary added, “I don’t think that’s his idea; it’s just what always seems to happen. Still, he’s happy and usually unhurt.” Then she led Elizabeth to her room and helped her into her dry nightdress. Then she wrapped her in a warm quilt and helped her into bed.

In the process, Elizabeth noticed that some of her things had been moved. “Mrs Trent, would anyone have looked through my room while we were away?”

“Why ever would anyone do that, Miss? It’s only George and Dr Standfast who were here.”

“It’s just things aren’t quite the way I remember leaving them.”

“You must be tired, I can’t imagine either of them searching your things. Maybe they had to move something when they were fixing the roof. In case plaster fell.”

“I suppose I’m just tired and seeing things.”

The next installment.

Things get a tad more strange.

Following from the last installment:

“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.”

“Yes, mice.” Uncle Sylvester paused, “Mice yes, that’s right, mice. Mary told me that your dresses were fine, well made, suitable for London, but not suitable for country rambles. We were thinking that you would like to get some plainer ones made so you can wander about the downs without worry.”

“Are you sure I’ll be strong enough?”

“I think,” Her uncle said, “you’ll make a rapid recovery. I can already see that the fresh air agrees with you.”

Elizabeth smiled at him and said, “I hope so.”

“You’ll be surprised how good the clean air and healthy living in Dartmoor are for consumption. Finish your breakfast, and I’ll have Mary take you to Moreton Hampstead. See a draper.”

“Uncle, I’m sure I could make my own, and with Mrs Trent’s help.”

“Yes, yes, but we don’t have the fabric. You’ll need supplies, even if you stitch them yourself.”

Mary started to object, as a competent housekeeper she had more than enough fabric on hand for a simple farm-dress, but then she caught Dr Standfast’s glance and agreed to the trip.

“Excellent,” he said, “While you’re out, George and I will need to repair the roof. It looks as if there’s a pair of broken tiles over the window to Elizabeth’s room.”

“There are?” Elizabeth asked.

“When you go to put on your town clothes, take a look up from the window.”

Having finished her tea, and a hefty helping of bread, butter and jam, Elizabeth returned to her room to change. She followed her uncle’s advice and looked above the window. There were several shattered and damaged tiles. If she didn’t know better, she could have sworn that they had been shot. Certainly something hard had shattered them. She said to herself, “I wonder if one of the local children was throwing stones.”

“Mrs Trent,” Elizabeth said, as their pony easily trotted downhill to Moreton Hampstead, “It sounded to me that my uncle wanted us out of the house. Is something going on?”

“No Miss, he wants you to get out in the sunshine. At least while the weather’s good. It can be awful close weather up here at times. Have you see the downs and tors at their best.”

“I guess. Do we need the fabric?”

“I wouldn’t say we do, but Miss, there’s always something to look at in the town. You do need a plain dress that won’t get too mucky and we can brush clean when it does. That and a rain cloak. That pretty little thing of a parasol umbrella you brought from London won’t last long when the rain sets in.”

“And I suppose we can’t make a good rain cloak.”

“Not a good one, Miss,” Mary laughed.

“You know Mrs Trent, I wouldn’t have believed it, but I think Uncle’s right. I am breathing better.”

“Dr Standfast is a sharp man and a good doctor, Miss Elizabeth.”

“Mrs Trent, do you know what happened to the roof by my window? It sounded as though something were there last night. Just when the thunderstorm started. There wasn’t any hail was there?”

Mary paused, and changed the direction of the conversation. “Nay Miss. This here is North Bovey. A pretty little place, but nothing to compare with Moreton Hampstead.”

“Or London.” Elizabeth added with a laugh.

“Nor London. Not that I’ve ever been there. Can you tell me about it?”

Mary queried Elizabeth about the wonders of the city all the way into town. Crowds, omnibuses, gas-lights, museums, concerts, and even whether she’d danced with young men and had a fancy for one. Elizabeth sighed that the men she had met so far were rather dull.

“Well, Miss,” Mary said, “I don’t know that country folk are exciting.”

“I expect they just weren’t the right men for me.”

They pulled into town, and after arranging to bate their pony at The Horse, walked across the street to the ironmongers. Mary paused outside and said, “I need to check on some things Mr Trent ordered, I’ll meet you at the Moreton Drapers. They’re just up the street.” She pointed the direction.

Elizabeth agreed to walk on ahead and left for the drapers. The store supplied a combination of the fabrics and notions needed to make clothing as well as a small selection of readymade clothing for the touring and less-discerning or perhaps, more desperate, trade.

The clerk greeted her, “Miss, can I be of service?”

“I hope so. I need a rain cloak.”

“Here on a walking holiday?”

“No, but after that thunderstorm last night, I should think I need one.”

The clerk said, “What thunderstorm?”

“Wasn’t there one here? There were flashes and bangs all around the farmhouse.”

“That must have been that crazy old coot who lives up at Barnecourt. Always making noisy bangs, firing off fireworks and dashed silly things like that. Wish he wouldn’t ’cause he’s a good doctor.”

“I think you mean my Uncle Standfast.”

“Oh.” The clerk paused and then after a moment to sort his feelings turned back to the business at hand and said, “You were wanting a rain cloak. We have a wide selection.”

He was displaying their selection, kept on hand for the visitors from the city who discovered that the wind-driven rain of the high moors and umbrellas did not mix. Elizabeth was deciding between a yellow vulcanized rubber slicker and a green waxed cape when Mary came in. The clerk said, “Mrs Trent, I shall be with you presently.”

“I’m with her. Miss James, have you seen anything you like?”

“Which is better, a waxed cape or this rubber one?”

“Get the waxed, it won’t be torn by the briers.”

The clerk promptly took the waxed cape and set it aside for her. “Anything else you’ll be needing Miss?”

“A skirt, something that will do for walking.”

“I have some ready-made’s, but Mrs Trent is an excellent needlewoman.”

“As am I, but need something now. We need fabric as well, don’t we, Mrs Trent?”

Mary stepped up and gave the clerk her requirements. She’d written them down to save time. A few minutes later, with the cloak, an awful woollen skirt, and a small bolt of fabric put on the account, Mary and Elizabeth left the shop.

Elizabeth said, “He called my uncle a ‘crazy old coot’ and said he shot off rockets and made all sorts of odd noises. Is that true?”

“He’s not crazy nor a coot, but he does like his explosions. He’s been known to help test blasting powders for the quarries at Hayter, up on the Tor.”

“Was that what happened last night? I only ask so I can get some notice and not be surprised.”

Mary said, “Did you care for some tea before we return?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“No, I didn’t. Ask your uncle about it. Are you hungry after our expedition?”

The next installment.

The start of the story can be found here.

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.