Marco Polo by Netflix coming in December 12, 2014

The original series about the famed explorer stars Italian newcomer Lorenzo Richelmy

Marco Polo 04

 

 

As Netflix’s repertoire of original programming increases, so does its variety. The site tiptoes into different genre territory with each new release. Political drama? Werewolf thriller? Animated comedy featuring a talking horse? Check, check, check. Netflix’s latest original comes to subscribers in the form of a period drama. Marco Polo, the aptly titled show about 13th-century explorer Marco Polo, will premiere its 10-episode first season on December 12. The show stars Italian actor Lorenzo Richelmy in the titular role, along with Twin Peaks’ Joan Chen and Prometheus’ Benedict Wong. Chinese actress Zhu Zhu will portray Polo’s love interest in the show, which will all take place across the court of Kublai Khan. As previously noted, the show will also be riddled with “sexual intrigue” and “political skullduggery.”

Netflix has also released a few stills, which, if viewed in order, confirm that Polo does indeed explore, encounter Chinese authority, fall in love, and engage in some sort of battle.

Marco Polo 01 Marco Polo 02 Marco Polo 03

Margaret Hale With The Red Book pt 1

Margaret with the Red Book
Margaret with the Red Book

A John Thornton / Margaret Hale Fantasy Novel

Download PDF of this book for $3.00 US – Paypal

Chapter One
(pages 1-10)

Margaret Hale was strolling the cool breezes outside on the veranda, feeling a bit hot and exhausted but happy over the evening so far. She had been whirled and twirled around the ballroom many times. She would have been asked again had she not stepped outside of the hall into the moonlit night at Hanover House. This fine historical building was a place for meetings and social occasions. Her graduation from finishing school was not far off and she knew she would miss these exciting times and experiences, but mostly all the friends she felt she was making for her lifetime, especially Grace. In the last half year, the graduates were exposed to the gentlemen from the nearby college for fancy balls and casual dances. On Sunday, the Hanover House was turned into a fine dining facility so if a young lady wished to be taken to a nice dinner she was allowed to be invited to a Hanover dinner by one of the seniors of the men’s college. Margaret kept in touch with two other ladies that had graduated last year and was surprised to find they went on to marry a gentleman from that local prestigious college.

Margaret only had a brother and her father left. Her mother, who had been a Lady, had left Margaret with money for finishing school, a small allowance to get her through her single years, a significant dowry and all of her jewels. Her father was still the clergy of a small local parish outside of Helstone and her brother was in the Royal Navy somewhere near Africa. She missed him as he rarely made it home. Margaret was of modest height, slightly below average, but that small frame supported a nicely curved body and full bosom, small waist and nicely rounded hips. Her eyes were a shade somewhere between blue and green depending on the light and the colors that surrounded her face and her light brown tresses. She felt she was pretty but would never be devastatingly beautiful like many of the other women school mates.

“Miss Hale?” She heard as she turned to see Trevor Tennant attempting to gain her attention in a quiet manner. “I saw you leave the room and probably for the same reason that I am here. The room has become warm and stuffy. What a nice difference out here, don’t you think?”
“I do indeed, Mr. Tennant. I thoroughly enjoy the dance, all of them that have been held here. It was just a moment there I felt I needed to take the air. It’s lovely tonight, too. The stars are bright, the music is gay, and we are young and eager to fly,” Margaret said wistfully while gazing into the heavens.

Trevor
Trevor

“Would you mind dancing with me, here, outside? Trevor nervously asked. “The music is slow, unfortunately, not a waltz, but I dare say we have no room here for that.”
“Why, yes, Mr. Tennant, I would be delighted.”
Trevor Tennant moved closer and took her hand, advancing her toward a more open area — away from the assorted outdoor furniture. He slid his hand lightly to the middle of her back at her waist and offered his other hand for her to take. The dance consisted of some intricate steps and many times they would part and revolve around the other eventual coming back to the original position of how they started.
Margaret wasn’t sure but it seemed each new time coming back into his arms, he held her a bit closer. It was starting to feel embarrassingly too close, but she wasn’t sure that she minded all that much. As a lady though, she felt she must mildly protest such advances. “Mr. Tennant, I fear you are holding me too closely for propriety.”
“We are alone out here, I see no propriety watchers. The question is, is it too close for you?”
Margaret wanted to stammer out an answer to that but didn’t know if she should tell the truth or not. Down deep, it felt nice and warm, and protective. “Mr. Tennant, you have me at a disadvantage.”
“As it should be,” he replied. “I have watched you from afar for many months through the balls and dances here. I think we have danced before, too. At this moment, I have you all to myself and I want the advantage. I’d like to tell you of my feelings for you.”
The music ended at that moment and Mr. Trevor did not take his arms from her. Instead, he lifted her chin so her face was to his and he gently bent down and gave her a light kiss.
The sound of voices from others arriving on the veranda immediately separated them from each other at a proper distance. Trevor kept looking at Margaret trying to gauge her totally confused expression. “Miss Hale, should I apologize?”
“I . . . I have never been kissed before.” Margaret continued to diagnose the all of it. The sensation was divine. The propriety was out of bounds. His expectations from this point forward, were what? “No . . . no, you don’t need to apologize. It was very nice.”
“Nice, maybe, but was it welcomed?” He asked, as he guided her to a more secluded area away from the emerging dancers.
Several of Trevor’s school friends saw him in the corner with a woman and walked over to tease him. Before Margaret could form her answer, they arrived.
“Hey, Trev, aren’t you going to introduce us to this fair maiden?” Lord Robert said, already slurring his words from too much drink.
“Would you gentlemen kindly leave us to our conversation?” Trevor politely asked.
“Oh c’mon, Trev. You’ve talked about this young lady for months; it’s time we meet who has taken your fancy.”
William was pulling on Lord Robert to leave them alone. He could see they were uninvited.
Margaret was very embarrassed at all the fuss and took off in hurry through the ballroom, to the ladies area.
“Damn you, Robert. See what you’ve done.” Trevor said, heading off in Margaret’s direction.
Lord Robert, staggered backwards spilling his champagne glass, hollering, “Sorry Trev. I just wanted to meet this apparition you keep referring to.”
The other school mate, William, took Lord Robert’s coat lapels in hand and led him over to a table and chair set and shoved him into it.”
William, standing over Lord Robert, watching him swill the remainder of his drink, spoke up. “You nobles! You think you can just walk over anyone. You think your title gives you a life’s permission to act in any fashion you please. You disregard others and their feelings. I’ll be glad when graduation is over and I can be away from your lot. There aren’t too many nobles this semester, but you all act the same. Do you have prep schools that all of you go to? Are there classes in condescension, rudeness, bawdiness, egomania in this school? Somewhere, all of you, with few exceptions, seem to learn the same lessons. I’ve said all I want and you won’t remember it anyway.” William left Lord Robert to fend for himself and went in search of Trevor.

Margaret felt she had hidden away long enough. The redness from crying had left her face and she looked presentable once again. However, the rumblings in her stomach wouldn’t subside. As utterly rude as Lord Robert was, it was a small blessing as she didn’t know how to reply to Mr. Tennant. She’d had no particular interest in him before this evening. She only felt he was going to be a fine gentleman. The kiss, however, was something she had looked forward to experiencing. A lot of the other girls talked about how one gentleman kissed compared to another. To Margaret’s way of thinking, kissing was only done when you had strong feeling for the person you were to kiss. Maybe she was wrong. It could be just one step above the admiration level. It was a gentleman’s way of speaking words, he couldn’t say. She put her hand on the doorknob to leave and still had no answer should Mr. Tennant find her again. The evening was getting late so Margaret decided to slip out and walk back to her residence on the school’s square.
Successful in her escape, she had to wade through the coaches and the drivers waiting outside for the masters. Fortunately, they seemed more of a gentleman than Lord Robert and asked if she needed an escort. It bothered them that a woman was alone on foot in the dark. “Thank you kindly, but my residence is just up this hill. Your concern is appreciated.” Margaret said, holding her skirt above her ankles as she waded through the dampening grass. It took her about two minutes to see her residence in sight when she was suddenly and violently grabbed from behind. She was able to shout out one loud scream before a handkerchief was shoved in her mouth. She was roughly thrown to the ground while she hammered her arms against her attacker and kicked her legs as hard as she could. She felt a smashing backhand across her face and was stunned into stillness for a moment.

 

Lord Robert Howsham
Lord Robert Howsham

“You keep that up little Miss Hale, and it will get worse.”
Margaret managed to pull the handkerchief from her mouth and let out another scream. This time she received a heavy blow to her chin, not quite taking her consciousness but leaving her unable to defend herself any longer. She could feel her dress being ruffled over her head and hands reaching and pulling frantically at her petticoats, looking for entrance to her undergarment. She was going to be raped. She wanted to die.

In the distance of her haze she thought she could hear voices.  The plundering of her body seemed to stop and someone was covering her up with a cloak.  Another lifted her head and she heard the words, “You’re going to be all right.  The bastard is being well and truly taken care of right now.  How do you feel, Miss?”

“I’m now sure yet.  It’s all so dim in my memory.  My face hurts, I know.  Who are you?”

“Miss, it’s about six of the drivers you just walked through.  We heard your screams but couldn’t find you in the dark until the second scream.”

“Do you know if . . . have I been . . .” Margaret was interrupted.

“Miss, I cannot be sure.  There is a small portion of blood on your clothes, but you should see a doctor, immediately.  You have many scratches to your abdomen and thighs besides the beating to your face.  Please, let’s see if you can sit up.”

The two drivers with her tried successfully to get Margaret into a sitting position.  The three of them were aware of the commotion still going on between the other four drivers, her assailant and she thought she’d heard Trevor’s voice.

“Do you know who attacked me?”

“Yes, Miss.  It was Lord Robert.  And probably nothing will be done about it.”

Arriving at her side next came Trevor and William taking over the positions of the drivers.  It seemed some chaperone heads were just behind them.  “Driver?”  Margaret spoke in trembling tones, “Thank you and all of the others for my rescue.  I wanted to die when I realized what was going to happen.  Thanks to you, it didn’t last long.”

“Glad to be of help, Miss.  I will pass your words onto the others.  I wish we could have found you sooner.”

“Before you leave, what is your name?”

“Miss, I am William Ripley.”  He topped his driver cap and left.

Trevor and William helped Margaret up to see if she was steady on her feet.  Trevor noticed the trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth.  “Miss Hale, I am so dreadfully sorry for this.  I would have gladly escorted you home.  I am so ashamed at the behavior of my once friend.”

“Mr. Tennant, please, you have no blame in this whatsoever.  It was all due to my stupidity to walk home and that Lord Robert.”

“No, I feel my actions encouraged you to leave.  As a gentleman it is almost unconscionable to believe I put you in such a situation.  Please forgive me?  I have learned a valuable lesson at your expense.”

“If you must feel forgiven, you are.  My naiveté had more to do with it then you did.  Let’s not talk about that anymore.”

A few of the finishing school chaperones arrived and assisted Miss Hale to the infirmary.  It was diagnosed as rape due to the rupture of her maidenhead, but there was no deposit of Lord Robert’s seed found within her.  She suffered some minor tearing and bruising in her vaginal area.  Everything would heal, possibly leaving a small scar or two on her thigh from his fingernails.  The worst part for Margaret was going to be the memory of the experience and how it may change her outlook on life and her attitude towards men.  Educated and well aware that most men were not like that, still she doubted her closeness to anyone for some time to come.

 

 

Margaret’s twentieth birthday arrived only a few days before graduation.  She was surprised not to have heard any word from her father, yet.  She was expecting to hear him wish her a nice day for her birthday and some arrangements about her coming home next week.  She would have to hire a coach to bring her home from London, mainly for the purpose of all the baggage she had collected being away from home for two years.  A train ride was out of the question unless she boxed all of her possession and had them shipped as freight.

Still receiving no word from her father, the day after graduation, Margaret started to feel fear about her father.  Was he ill, too ill to write?  She decided to box her possessions and have them shipped and she’d take the train.  Traveling the six hour ride, Margaret had plenty of time to reflect on her life and its future.  Her thoughts drifted towards how she would fare should her father pass from her.  She would be alone in a large house, while her brother sailed the waves a thousand miles south.  After two years of merriment with her female acquaintances, bright dresses, balls, picnics, and the nicer young men, she feared reality would not match it.  Somehow she had to mold her gay self into a woman that could blend with her environment.  Helstone was no match for London.  She wasn’t even sure there were many gentlemen of whose acquaintance she could make.  For two years her life had been rushing ahead full steam expecting on the outside what she had learned on the inside of the school.  She pondered the enormous difference of what lie ahead.

Margaret had written her father several days ago telling him when to expect her home and to meet her at the train station.  As the train pulled in, Margaret looked out and didn’t seem him about.  A porter helped her exit the coach with her bag.  Feeling lost she walked toward the carriages for hire when she felt a touch on her shoulder.  Still remembering her attacker, she whirled fiercely to face who touched her.

“I’m sorry, Miss Hale.  I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Hello, Mr. Bell.  It’s nice to see you.  I fear my reaction to your touch is caused from an attack I suffered while at school.  My attacker approached me in much the same way.  I’m sorry for my display.”

“Well, I am certainly horrified to hear about your attack.  Your father had not mentioned that to me.”  Mr. Bell said with real concern.

“It wasn’t all that long ago and I didn’t want to worry him, so I never told him.  Do you know why he isn’t here to greet me?”  Margaret stopped walking to ask.  “Something’s happened to him, hasn’t it?  Is he so very ill?”

Mr. Bell carried her satchel, leading her towards the carriages.  “Margaret, I will speak when we are in the coach.”

Margaret could feel the tears welling in her eyes.  If it hadn’t been bad news he would have alleviated her concern there and then, and he hadn’t.

As they approached Mr. Bell’s carriage, the driver had the door open and took the baggage setting it in a boot in the back.  Mr. Bell handed Margaret inside then followed, sitting beside her.  He could see Margaret was crying and he took her hand and began to rub it.  “Margaret, I am afraid I have the worst news possible.”

“Father has passed away, hasn’t he?”  Margaret couldn’t help but let out the sobs that she had been holding back.  “Tell me what happened.”

“Margaret, I have been your father’s closest friend since college, I decided to be the one to tell you.  There is even worse news than your father.  I am taking you to my home because I think I will need to tend to you.  This is the worst hardship I have ever encountered and I need to help you through it.”

“I can’t imagine what can be worse than loosing father, but get it all out, please.”

“I would rather wait until you are at my home.  You will need a brandy.  Just a few more minutes until we’re there.  I can tell you that it was I who made the decision to wait a few days in telling you and allow you to go through your graduation ceremony.  There was nothing for you to do here anyway.  Here we are.”

The driver opened the door and Mr. Bell assisted a trembling Margaret out and to his front door.  Mary, Mr. Bell’s live-in housekeeper came to open the door.  “Mary, fix two brandies, please.  Is there a room prepared for Miss Hale?

“Yes, sir.  I’ll take her belongings up when the driver brings them in.”

“Thank you, Mary.”

Mr. Bell removed his coat and hat, laying them across a chair in the parlor.  Margaret had walked over to the settee and was staring into the flames which kept the damp away in the early fall.

Mr. Bell sat next to Margaret.  Mary came back to the room with the brandies and handed them to each one.  He saw that Margaret was already in a state of disbelief and he felt bad that he was going to make it worse.

“Miss Hale, drink your brandy while I tell you what has transpired recently.”

Without looking up Margaret sipped the brandy.  She was finding it difficult to breath, much less swallow.”

“All right, Mr. Bell, I am ready.”

“Yes, your father had been feeling unwell for several weeks.  It seemed to be a problem with his stomach and the doctor had him in bed with mild soups for a few days.  He was being tended to by a nurse’s aide but that was not what took him.”  Bell paused.

“Please, continue,” pleaded Margaret.

“Four days ago your father received a note from the Navy . . .”

“Frederick?”  Margaret looked wide-eyed at Mr. Bell.

“Yes, I am afraid so.  It seems that Frederick had contracted malaria but never wrote home about it.  Frankly, he would have been too weak to try.  He passed away about ten days ago and upon your father reading the Navy’s letter, he suffered a massive heart attack.  Your father died quickly and probably felt little to no pain.”

This book will contain some explicit sensual scenes later in the book.  If that is offensive to you in a Romance novel, you may be well advised to not begin this book.  – Loyal Wynyard

loyalwynyard.com

luceslines

Dearest, loveliest Meg – Part Twenty-Two

Margaret_001

 

Chapter Twenty-Two

My eyes were riveted on Douglas’ suddenly ashen face,  which showed the expressed shock and disbelief he was experiencing. He walked slowly toward Petite-Maman, gently took her hands in his and spoke to her in urgent French. I roughly translated their conversation on behalf of the rest of the audience. It sounded like this:

“I beg you, Ma’am, are you certain of the baby’s age?”

“I assure you, Monsieur, that the baby was approximately eight pounds in weight. The umbilical cord was wrapped around the neck and he must have died in the womb which caused the beginning of birth.”

“When was this, the birth?”

“Ten years ago, not long before Christmas.”

“So it is true …” Douglas murmured, “Christina and I met in June …”

My heart, in sudden emotion, went out to him yet I could not move or venture a gesture of comfort. Douglas’ own apparent distress proved that Christina Finney must have been very dear to his own heart since, ten years after her death, she still had so great a power over him. Not for the first time did I feel extremely jealous of the Finney girl.

 

Marianne’s eager voice roused me from my sombre thoughts with an alacrity that was so very much in her nature.

“Oh, it is indeed true! Dear Mr Spencer, she did deceive you then! She must have been already with child when she came to Torquay and her sole purpose was to trick some unfortunate young man into marriage, so as to give the child the benefit of his name and position.”

At this point, Christopher, her husband, interrupted her in his quiet, determined way.

“I fear, my love, that it might not have been the only reason for the Finneys’ coming to Devonshire. During my stay in Liverpool I found out that Finney was in dire straits with regard to his financial circumstances. He was in great need for funds and his creditors were closing in on him quite rapidly. Finney and his friend, Wilkinson, had invested a great deal of their money in some very insecure schemes which proved to be disastrous. Finney had lost virtually all his money while Wilkinson, whose father had just recently died, was able to survive on his newly received inheritance money. Ten years after the affair which drove Spencer from his home, however, Wilkinson found himself in equally disastrous pecuniary difficulties as his friend, yet he had managed to keep the creditors at bay by the promise of inheriting Sir Matthew’s fortune and estate. He came to live here as soon as Douglas was sent away to Jamaica. He wormed himself into the esteem of Sir Mathew, who was very distressed by the conduct of his only son.”

“Oh, oh, I cannot believe how it was possible for Sir Matthew to treat his son that way!” Marianne exclaimed, “Surely it would have been preferable to …”

“No …”

Douglas’ wavering voice stopped her in mid-sentence. Fighting to hide his emotional distress – and only barely succeeding – he let his distasteful gaze travel over the assembly.

“No, I will not tolerate any disapproval of my good father. He was right in punishing me, for had I not done exactly what he most disapproved of? I had indeed seduced Christina! I had known her intimately, even if I was not the father of her child …”

His words died away in a dreadful silence and everybody sat staring at him with compassion. The silence dragged on for several minutes and, although I wanted desperately to break it, my constricted throat could not find the words I wanted to force out.

Elinor’s calm, level voice took over for me.

“Christopher, did you happen to discover who Miss Finney’s lover was, back in Liverpool?”

“No,” our brother-in-law answered, “the girl was said to be quiet and very protected. Her father always kept her in his house and in the company of close friends and family. No one I spoke with knew of any suitors.”

Again, silence engulfed the room. I was beginning to feel dizzy with weariness and tension. I realised I was not closer to Douglas as I had been since we were rescued from the underground passage. He withdrew from me whenever we were not alone.

The soft French speaking voice of Petite-Maman spoke to me and I startled.

Mademoiselle, do you still have the letter I gave you, that day when we met on the moors?”

I was confused at first and I stared at her, not comprehending what she was talking about. Then, belatedly, I remembered and took the cream-coloured envelope with its blue ribbon and seal, from my pocket, where I had kept it ever since she gave it to me. I transferred it from skirt to skirt with each passing day and each change of clothes – it never left me. Like a talisman one does not want to be parted from. I was still unable to utter the slightest word but I handed the envelope to Douglas, who accepted it from  my trembling hand. He tilted his inquiring eyebrows and looked at me.“Margaret, what is this?”

“It is for you, Monsieur Spencer, from the young lady I attended. She pressed it into my hands just before she died,” Petite-Maman said, looking forcibly into Douglas’ eyes.

“My love, will you not open it?,” I urged. “This clearly is Christina’s last message to you and she must have felt guilty …”

The words died in my throat as I watched yet again the emotions on Douglas’ countenance. He stood very upright and rigid and held the letter in his hand. He stared at it, frozen in memories of the girl who had engaged his heart for the first time so long ago. Christina Finney might have wounded Douglas by her betrayal, yet she had never lost that special place in his heart – that magical, deep touch of first love. For that, I would always hate her.

 

Elinor’s husband Edward suddenly stood and walked over to Douglas. He turned toward the rest of us and, in his quiet, soothing parson’s voice, addressed us.

“I think we should let matters rest for tonight. Mr Spencer, as well as our Margaret, have been through quite an ordeal. They need some peace and quiet so that they can reflect on what has been revealed here.”

“Quite right,” Christopher agreed. “Spencer, old chap, I suggest you stay here for tonight. Your room has been readied so that you can get a decent night’s sleep. Tomorrow we can attend to the most pressing matters of how to retrieve your inheritance. I have asked my lawyer, Mr Morley, to come over from Torquay and advise us on the legal issues of your late father’s will. I hope you do not find this too forthright of me?”

Douglas roused himself from a state of apathy with some difficulty, nodded and said: “No, Brandon, not at all. Thank you, Mr Ferrars, and you too, Brandon, for the suggestion of retiring to bed. I think I will give in to it.”

Without a word to me or the rest of us, he turned on his heels and motioned to Jack Twinkler to follow him out of the room.

 

The night breeze, wafting through the open window of my bedchamber on Delaford’s second floor, was hot and sultry. It did nothing to cool the room, beside stirring up whatever air and dust it contained. I lay on top of the covers in my flimsiest muslin nightdress, perspiring and unhappy, because I could not find sleep. No, I mused to myself, unhappy does not cover my discomfort and sleep lack. Miserable is more like the way I felt, utterly and deeply miserable, and I was at my wits’ end about how I would ever be come cheerful again.

When had my luck changed? Why does Douglas behave as he does now? Always, when there were people around, he seemed to withdraw from me. It is a very different behaviour from the one he shows me when we are alone.  When we were cooped up in that horrible passage, he was a tower of strength and gentleness. He saved my life with no regard to his own personal risks. He had asked me to be his wife in such a romantic way that I still feel weak in the knees from the sheer loveliness of it. At that moment, as in all the moments we were alone, I knew that he loved me as deeply as I loved him.

But tonight, with Christina’s professing letter burning in his hand like a piece of red hot coal, Douglas looked like a stranger to me, wrapped up as he had been in memories of the girl, he gave his heart to, when he was no more than a boy. It was doubtless that he had indeed loved Christina. Worse, he still had some feelings left over for her, or perhaps regret, guilt, or bereavement. I need to find out what it was that stirred him so, if I was ever to become happy with him. I would have to prove to him the depth of my commitment.

I gave up the struggle, rose and went to the open window. I gazed into the hot August night with its deep indigo sky pierced with a myriad of star pinpricks and adorned by a waning moon. The garden of Delaford lay beneath my window. It appeared like an enchanted kingdom beckoning me to explore it. I wrapped a shawl around my shoulders and went outside through the drawing room’s  French windows and onto the terrace. The slate flagstones felt cool beneath my bare feet and I slowly walked toward the smooth lawn. The grass was soft and thick and I strode over the lawn’s width toward the Home Wood. In contrast to Watcombe Manor’s neglected landscape, here there was meticulous caring of the grounds. No undergrowth or weeds disfigured this estate. I reached the wood and faced the lawn and house, hugging my shawl about me. Delaford was a lovely house and a happy one; it sheltered Christopher and Marianne and their children, my nieces, Amelia and Emily. Soon there would be a new baby and I knew how fervently, this time, Marianne was hoping for a boy.

“A penny for them …” a deep, very familiar voice behind me spoke.

 

Douglas was in dishabille and wore nothing but shirt and breeches – he looked devastatingly handsome. My startled gaze roamed over his tall, lean body and its broad shoulders and thin waist. His long, muscular legs ended at large, strong-boned feet. Bare feet. His were so incredibly attractive that my throat tightened as if I were back in the underground passage again and I could not breathe.

I took in the smooth triangle of chest in the V-shaped opening of his shirt, from which rose the perfect column of his neck. His face, pale in the weak moonlight, was finely chiselled – the smooth, strong bones, displaying the strength of his nose and jaw and the sensuality of his mouth. His eyes, however, were unreadable and appeared almost black in the night.

The shawl fell from my shoulders and out of my trembling hands, forming a large white triangle on the lawn’s darker shaded area. I was suddenly immersed in heat, blood coursing loudly through my veins and pounding deafeningly in my ears. Heaven help me, but I wanted him then and there. When he took a step toward me and extended a hand, I grasped it into my own, sank down onto the shawl and drew him on top of me. His long, lean body covered me completely. For the time of a heartbeat, Douglas supported himself on his elbows and gazed down on me, his eyes now a pale grey in the low, near moonless night. Once again his eyes were unreadable.

“Meggie …” he said in hoarse, almost gruff voice, his lips parting as if he needed to breathe heavily. The weight of him, even as he supported himself on his elbows, was almost too much for my slender body but I did not care. I welcomed him as it felt so good, so right. I felt the pressure of his erection against my equally aroused womanly place. My whole body suffused with heat. Urgently I raked my hands through the heavy black mass of his gorgeous hair. Instinctively my lower body came upward to press even closer to him; he uttered a low, throaty  groan.

“Ah … woman, what are you doing … do you want me to ruin you here and now? If I do not get up, I will. You are so lovely, my Meg, you smell so good and your body is so soft and warm against mine …”

“I want you to love me, Douglas, here and now … I have waited so long to have you as my lover, please, do not deny me …”

Unable to suppress a sob, I drew his head down and pressed my mouth upon his.

 

 

 

 

Why Do the Brits Call the U.K. ‘Blighty’?

A regiment of Gloucestershires marching up Jamestown (with goat) during the Boer War 1899-1902 (Pic: AP-Photo)

Homesickness can do funny things to people. It can create fierce patriotism where once there was just allegiance; it can create an idealised society in the mind, one in which no one is ever cruel or selfish or rude because that’s the society the homesick person wishes to return to; and it can distort language, so that emotive terms such as the name of home itself should be avoided in case of excessive lower-lip quiver.

Blighty comes out of feelings like these. It’s an affectionate nickname for Britain (or more specifically England) taken from the height of the Victorian rule of India, that was first used in the Boer War in Africa, and popularised on the fields of Western Europe in the First World War.

The Oxford English Dictionary says that the word is a distortion of a distortion: the Urdu word vilayati either means foreign, British, English or European, and it became a common term for European visitors to India during the 1800s. A mishearing changed the v to a b, and then bilayati became Blighty, as a term to describe British imports from home, such as soda water. There again, it was also claimed by Rupert Graves that it derives from the Hindustani word for home: blitey.

Having picked up some use during the Boer War (because nothing breeds in-jokes and slang like soldiers living and fighting in close proximity), the term really took off during the long years of trench warfare in World War I. Soldiers would talk openly of dear old Blighty, indicating not only a longing to be away from some of the most horrific battlegrounds in human history, but also a wish to return to a time when such horrors were unthinkable. This elegiac tone was caught and carried by the War Poets: Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfred Owen, both of whom used the word when describing their experiences.

The War Office soon picked up on this, releasing a free magazine for active servicemen called Blighty, which contained poems and stories and cartoons from men on the front line. Then there were slang terms like Blighty wound, an injury good enough to get a soldier sent home, but not life-threatening, as depicted in the 1916 Music Hall song “I’m Glad I’ve Got a Bit of a Blighty One” by Vesta Tilley.

 http://youtu.be/8WVE9OHxKsAA year later there was “Take Me Back To Dear Old Blighty,” which quickly became enormously popular both at home and abroad, sung by many artistes (and soldiers) and capturing something of that wistfulness for the pre-war era, while still maintaining appropriately gritted teeth at the unpleasant tasks ahead:

And as every fan of ’80s indie rock knows, this is the song that leads off the Smiths’ remarkable cultural critique “The Queen Is Dead” by which time the reference was more about feeling horrified by the state of British society in the ’80s than soldiers returning from a war:

So Blighty is a word that could only exist because the Brits had gone off all over the world exploring and invading, defending their interests and soaking up the languages; and yet it’s principal use was to conjure an image of a pre-colonial Britain, shorn of all foreign influence.

UK ITV Sets Premiere Date For ‘The Suspicions Of Mr Whicher’ Season 3

Category : News, UK News
Suspicions Mr Whicher (FT)

The third run of ITV’s The Suspicions of Mr Whicher will premiere on Sunday September 7th at 9:05pm, it has been announced.

The Suspicions of Mr Whicher is based on the real life career of celebrated 19th century detective Jonathan ‘Jack’ Whicher and follows the eponymous character who is an Detective Inspector with London’s Metropolitan Police Service. The drama is produced by Hat Trick Productions and stars Paddy Considine. The executive producer is Hat Trick’s Head of Drama Mark Redhead.

The show’s third run, which consists of 2 two-hour films (Beyond The Pale and ‘Till Death Do Us Part), follows Jack Whicher as he pursues his new career as a private inquiry agent, having left his position with the Metropolitan Police Service. The new films were penned by Helen Edmundson and directed by Geoff Sax and David Blair.

Kill Your Darlings 2013

Kill Your Darlings 2013 GAY Themed

SYNOPSIS

As a young man in the 1940s, poet Allen Ginsberg wins a place at Columbia University in New York City. He arrives as a very inexperienced freshman, but soon runs into Lucien Carr, who is very anti-establishment and rowdy.

After a while, Ginsberg discovers that Carr only manages to stay at Columbia thanks to a somewhat older man, a professor, David Kammerer, who writes all of his term papers for him, and seems perhaps to have been an ex-lover of Carr’s. It appears that Kammerer is still in love with Carr, and is revealed to be pressuring Carr for sexual favors, in exchange for assuring that he cannot be expelled.

Ginsberg soon meets, through Carr, William S. Burroughs, already far into drug experimentation. The writer Jack Kerouac, who was a sailor at that time and expelled from Columbia, also meets and spends time with them. Ginsberg takes part in various extreme escapades with this extraordinary group of people.

Carr eventually tells Kammerer he is done with him, and recruits Ginsberg (who has a crush on him) to write his term papers instead. After a while, Kerouac and Carr attempt to run off and join the merchant marine together, hoping to go to Paris.

There is a confrontation between Carr and Kammerer, during which Kammerer is killed by stabbing (and perhaps also by drowning). Carr is arrested, and asks Ginsberg to write his deposition for him. Ginsberg is at first reluctant to help the unstable Carr, but after digging up more crucial evidence on Kammerer and his past relationship, he writes a piece entitled “The Night in Question”. The piece describes a more emotional event, in which Carr kills Kammerer who outright tells him to after being threatened with the knife, devastated by this final rejection. Carr rejects the ‘fictional’ story, and begs a determined Ginsberg to not reveal it to anybody, afraid that it will ruin him in the ensuing trial.

We learn from Carr’s mother that Kammerer was the first person to seduce Carr, when he was much younger and lived in Chicago. After the trial we find out that Carr testified that the attack took place only because Kammerer was a sexual predator, and that Carr killed him in self-defense. Carr is not convicted of murder and receives only a short sentence.

Ginsberg then submits “The Night in Question” as his final term paper. On the basis of that shocking piece of prose, Ginsberg is faced with possible expulsion from Columbia. Either he must be expelled or he must embrace establishment values. He chooses the former, but is forced to leave his typescript behind. A week or two later he receives the typescript in the mail with an encouraging letter from his professor telling him to pursue his writing.

TIME LINE

Post Edwardian  1944

TOP CAST

Daniel Radcliffe as Allen Ginsberg
Dane DeHaan as Lucien Carr
Jack Huston as Jack Kerouac
Ben Foster as William S. Burroughs
Michael C. Hall as David Kammerer
Elizabeth Olsen as Edie Parker
Jennifer Jason Leigh as Naomi Ginsberg
David Cross as Louis Ginsberg
Kyra Sedgwick as Marian Carr
David Rasche as Dean
John Cullum as Professor Steeves

TRAILER:

 

wiki35Info

 

Directed by John Krokidas
Produced by
Screenplay by John Krokidas
Austin Bunn
Story by Austin Bunn
Starring
Music by Nico Muhly
Cinematography Reed Morano
Edited by Brian A. Kates
Production
company
Killer Films
Benaroya Pictures
Future Film
Distributed by Sony Pictures Classics
Release date(s)
  • January 18, 2013 (Sundance)
  • October 16, 2013 (United States)
Running time 104 minutes[1]
Country United States
Language English


perioddrama.com

 

3:10 to Yuma 2007

310_to_Yuma_(2007_film)

 

SYNOPSIS

 In this gripping remake of the 1957 classic, rancher Dan Evans agrees to help transport captured outlaw Ben Wade to the nearest rail station, where they’ll board a train to court. But all the while, Wade’s henchmen are plotting their next move.

TIME LINE

Western  1884

TOP CAST
Russell Crowe as Ben Wade, a ruthless leader of a band of outlaws
Christian Bale as Dan Evans, a one-legged veteran turned rancher
Logan Lerman as William Evans, Dan’s eldest son, who dreams of being a cowboy
Ben Foster as Charlie Prince, Ben’s right-hand man, undyingly loyal to Ben
Peter Fonda as Byron McElroy, an elderly Pinkerton agent hired by the Railroad to hunt Wade
Dallas Roberts as Grayson Butterfield, an agent of the Southern Pacific Railroad
Alan Tudyk as Doc Potter
Lennie Loftin as Glen Hollander
Gretchen Mol as Alice Evans
Vinessa Shaw as Emmy
Kevin Durand as Tucker
Luce Rains as Marshal Weathers
Luke Wilson as Zeke
Marcus Sylvester as Slick
Carmilla Blakney as Rebbi
Rio Alexander as Campos

TRAILER:


wiki35

Directed by James Mangold
Produced by Cathy Konrad
Screenplay by Halsted Welles
Michael Brandt
Derek Haas
Based on Three-Ten to Yuma
by Elmore Leonard
Starring Russell Crowe
Christian Bale
Music by Marco Beltrami
Cinematography Phedon Papamichael
Edited by Michael McCusker
Production
company
Relativity Media
Distributed by Lionsgate Films
Release date(s)
  • September 7, 2007
Running time 122 minutes
Country United States
Language English

 

Yuma-full3-1040 Yuma-full3-1066 Yuma-full3-1713

Margaret with the Red Book

Starting next week.  A John Thornton & Margaret Hale Fiction Novel

Margaret with the Red Book

Margaret with the Red Book

Download PDF of this book for $3.00 US – Paypal

Through enormous misfortunes Margaret Hale finds herself at the bottom of her life, soon after finishing school. Her only refuge is her former governess who now runs a high-class gentleman’s club. Margaret is thrust into a mysterious world of humanity she’s never known. She becomes intrigued with the whispers of dark desires and sounds in the night, and hearing of unspeakable acts. Margaret begins to pen them to paper. Can she find the will and the courage to reach for a new life? Will a client of the club, John Thornton give her the confidence she once so easily had? Will she find redemption from her own shame? 500 pages of amazing characters will take you on a new journey in Milton.

Margaret With The Red Book (p 1-10)

Margaret with the Red Book
Margaret with the Red Book

Download PDF of this book for $3.00 US – Paypal

Chapter One
(pages 1-10)

Margaret Hale was strolling the cool breezes outside on the veranda, feeling a bit hot and exhausted but happy over the evening so far. She had been whirled and twirled around the ballroom many times. She would have been asked again had she not stepped outside of the hall into the moonlit night at Hanover House. This fine historical building was a place for meetings and social occasions. Her graduation from finishing school was not far off and she knew she would miss these exciting times and experiences, but mostly all the friends she felt she was making for her lifetime, especially Grace. In the last half year, the graduates were exposed to the gentlemen from the nearby college for fancy balls and casual dances. On Sunday, the Hanover House was turned into a fine dining facility so if a young lady wished to be taken to a nice dinner she was allowed to be invited to a Hanover dinner by one of the seniors of the men’s college. Margaret kept in touch with two other ladies that had graduated last year and was surprised to find they went on to marry a gentleman from that local prestigious college.

Margaret only had a brother and her father left. Her mother, who had been a Lady, had left Margaret with money for finishing school, a small allowance to get her through her single years, a significant dowry and all of her jewels. Her father was still the clergy of a small local parish outside of Helstone and her brother was in the Royal Navy somewhere near Africa. She missed him as he rarely made it home. Margaret was of modest height, slightly below average, but that small frame supported a nicely curved body and full bosom, small waist and nicely rounded hips. Her eyes were a shade somewhere between blue and green depending on the light and the colors that surrounded her face and her light brown tresses. She felt she was pretty but would never be devastatingly beautiful like many of the other women school mates.

“Miss Hale?” She heard as she turned to see Trevor Tennant attempting to gain her attention in a quiet manner. “I saw you leave the room and probably for the same reason that I am here. The room has become warm and stuffy. What a nice difference out here, don’t you think?”
“I do indeed, Mr. Tennant. I thoroughly enjoy the dance, all of them that have been held here. It was just a moment there I felt I needed to take the air. It’s lovely tonight, too. The stars are bright, the music is gay, and we are young and eager to fly,” Margaret said wistfully while gazing into the heavens.

Trevor
Trevor

“Would you mind dancing with me, here, outside? Trevor nervously asked. “The music is slow, unfortunately, not a waltz, but I dare say we have no room here for that.”
“Why, yes, Mr. Tennant, I would be delighted.”
Trevor Tennant moved closer and took her hand, advancing her toward a more open area — away from the assorted outdoor furniture. He slid his hand lightly to the middle of her back at her waist and offered his other hand for her to take. The dance consisted of some intricate steps and many times they would part and revolve around the other eventual coming back to the original position of how they started.
Margaret wasn’t sure but it seemed each new time coming back into his arms, he held her a bit closer. It was starting to feel embarrassingly too close, but she wasn’t sure that she minded all that much. As a lady though, she felt she must mildly protest such advances. “Mr. Tennant, I fear you are holding me too closely for propriety.”
“We are alone out here, I see no propriety watchers. The question is, is it too close for you?”
Margaret wanted to stammer out an answer to that but didn’t know if she should tell the truth or not. Down deep, it felt nice and warm, and protective. “Mr. Tennant, you have me at a disadvantage.”
“As it should be,” he replied. “I have watched you from afar for many months through the balls and dances here. I think we have danced before, too. At this moment, I have you all to myself and I want the advantage. I’d like to tell you of my feelings for you.”
The music ended at that moment and Mr. Trevor did not take his arms from her. Instead, he lifted her chin so her face was to his and he gently bent down and gave her a light kiss.
The sound of voices from others arriving on the veranda immediately separated them from each other at a proper distance. Trevor kept looking at Margaret trying to gauge her totally confused expression. “Miss Hale, should I apologize?”
“I . . . I have never been kissed before.” Margaret continued to diagnose the all of it. The sensation was divine. The propriety was out of bounds. His expectations from this point forward, were what? “No . . . no, you don’t need to apologize. It was very nice.”
“Nice, maybe, but was it welcomed?” He asked, as he guided her to a more secluded area away from the emerging dancers.
Several of Trevor’s school friends saw him in the corner with a woman and walked over to tease him. Before Margaret could form her answer, they arrived.
“Hey, Trev, aren’t you going to introduce us to this fair maiden?” Lord Robert said, already slurring his words from too much drink.
“Would you gentlemen kindly leave us to our conversation?” Trevor politely asked.
“Oh c’mon, Trev. You’ve talked about this young lady for months; it’s time we meet who has taken your fancy.”
William was pulling on Lord Robert to leave them alone. He could see they were uninvited.
Margaret was very embarrassed at all the fuss and took off in hurry through the ballroom, to the ladies area.
“Damn you, Robert. See what you’ve done.” Trevor said, heading off in Margaret’s direction.
Lord Robert, staggered backwards spilling his champagne glass, hollering, “Sorry Trev. I just wanted to meet this apparition you keep referring to.”
The other school mate, William, took Lord Robert’s coat lapels in hand and led him over to a table and chair set and shoved him into it.”
William, standing over Lord Robert, watching him swill the remainder of his drink, spoke up. “You nobles! You think you can just walk over anyone. You think your title gives you a life’s permission to act in any fashion you please. You disregard others and their feelings. I’ll be glad when graduation is over and I can be away from your lot. There aren’t too many nobles this semester, but you all act the same. Do you have prep schools that all of you go to? Are there classes in condescension, rudeness, bawdiness, egomania in this school? Somewhere, all of you, with few exceptions, seem to learn the same lessons. I’ve said all I want and you won’t remember it anyway.” William left Lord Robert to fend for himself and went in search of Trevor.

Margaret felt she had hidden away long enough. The redness from crying had left her face and she looked presentable once again. However, the rumblings in her stomach wouldn’t subside. As utterly rude as Lord Robert was, it was a small blessing as she didn’t know how to reply to Mr. Tennant. She’d had no particular interest in him before this evening. She only felt he was going to be a fine gentleman. The kiss, however, was something she had looked forward to experiencing. A lot of the other girls talked about how one gentleman kissed compared to another. To Margaret’s way of thinking, kissing was only done when you had strong feeling for the person you were to kiss. Maybe she was wrong. It could be just one step above the admiration level. It was a gentleman’s way of speaking words, he couldn’t say. She put her hand on the doorknob to leave and still had no answer should Mr. Tennant find her again. The evening was getting late so Margaret decided to slip out and walk back to her residence on the school’s square.
Successful in her escape, she had to wade through the coaches and the drivers waiting outside for the masters. Fortunately, they seemed more of a gentleman than Lord Robert and asked if she needed an escort. It bothered them that a woman was alone on foot in the dark. “Thank you kindly, but my residence is just up this hill. Your concern is appreciated.” Margaret said, holding her skirt above her ankles as she waded through the dampening grass. It took her about two minutes to see her residence in sight when she was suddenly and violently grabbed from behind. She was able to shout out one loud scream before a handkerchief was shoved in her mouth. She was roughly thrown to the ground while she hammered her arms against her attacker and kicked her legs as hard as she could. She felt a smashing backhand across her face and was stunned into stillness for a moment.

 

Lord Robert Howsham
Lord Robert Howsham

“You keep that up little Miss Hale, and it will get worse.”
Margaret managed to pull the handkerchief from her mouth and let out another scream. This time she received a heavy blow to her chin, not quite taking her consciousness but leaving her unable to defend herself any longer. She could feel her dress being ruffled over her head and hands reaching and pulling frantically at her petticoats, looking for entrance to her undergarment. She was going to be raped. She wanted to die.

In the distance of her haze she thought she could hear voices.  The plundering of her body seemed to stop and someone was covering her up with a cloak.  Another lifted her head and she heard the words, “You’re going to be all right.  The bastard is being well and truly taken care of right now.  How do you feel, Miss?”

“I’m now sure yet.  It’s all so dim in my memory.  My face hurts, I know.  Who are you?”

“Miss, it’s about six of the drivers you just walked through.  We heard your screams but couldn’t find you in the dark until the second scream.”

“Do you know if . . . have I been . . .” Margaret was interrupted.

“Miss, I cannot be sure.  There is a small portion of blood on your clothes, but you should see a doctor, immediately.  You have many scratches to your abdomen and thighs besides the beating to your face.  Please, let’s see if you can sit up.”

The two drivers with her tried successfully to get Margaret into a sitting position.  The three of them were aware of the commotion still going on between the other four drivers, her assailant and she thought she’d heard Trevor’s voice.

“Do you know who attacked me?”

“Yes, Miss.  It was Lord Robert.  And probably nothing will be done about it.”

Arriving at her side next came Trevor and William taking over the positions of the drivers.  It seemed some chaperone heads were just behind them.  “Driver?”  Margaret spoke in trembling tones, “Thank you and all of the others for my rescue.  I wanted to die when I realized what was going to happen.  Thanks to you, it didn’t last long.”

“Glad to be of help, Miss.  I will pass your words onto the others.  I wish we could have found you sooner.”

“Before you leave, what is your name?”

“Miss, I am William Ripley.”  He topped his driver cap and left.

Trevor and William helped Margaret up to see if she was steady on her feet.  Trevor noticed the trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth.  “Miss Hale, I am so dreadfully sorry for this.  I would have gladly escorted you home.  I am so ashamed at the behavior of my once friend.”

“Mr. Tennant, please, you have no blame in this whatsoever.  It was all due to my stupidity to walk home and that Lord Robert.”

“No, I feel my actions encouraged you to leave.  As a gentleman it is almost unconscionable to believe I put you in such a situation.  Please forgive me?  I have learned a valuable lesson at your expense.”

“If you must feel forgiven, you are.  My naiveté had more to do with it then you did.  Let’s not talk about that anymore.”

A few of the finishing school chaperones arrived and assisted Miss Hale to the infirmary.  It was diagnosed as rape due to the rupture of her maidenhead, but there was no deposit of Lord Robert’s seed found within her.  She suffered some minor tearing and bruising in her vaginal area.  Everything would heal, possibly leaving a small scar or two on her thigh from his fingernails.  The worst part for Margaret was going to be the memory of the experience and how it may change her outlook on life and her attitude towards men.  Educated and well aware that most men were not like that, still she doubted her closeness to anyone for some time to come.

 

 

Margaret’s twentieth birthday arrived only a few days before graduation.  She was surprised not to have heard any word from her father, yet.  She was expecting to hear him wish her a nice day for her birthday and some arrangements about her coming home next week.  She would have to hire a coach to bring her home from London, mainly for the purpose of all the baggage she had collected being away from home for two years.  A train ride was out of the question unless she boxed all of her possession and had them shipped as freight.

Still receiving no word from her father, the day after graduation, Margaret started to feel fear about her father.  Was he ill, too ill to write?  She decided to box her possessions and have them shipped and she’d take the train.  Traveling the six hour ride, Margaret had plenty of time to reflect on her life and its future.  Her thoughts drifted towards how she would fare should her father pass from her.  She would be alone in a large house, while her brother sailed the waves a thousand miles south.  After two years of merriment with her female acquaintances, bright dresses, balls, picnics, and the nicer young men, she feared reality would not match it.  Somehow she had to mold her gay self into a woman that could blend with her environment.  Helstone was no match for London.  She wasn’t even sure there were many gentlemen of whose acquaintance she could make.  For two years her life had been rushing ahead full steam expecting on the outside what she had learned on the inside of the school.  She pondered the enormous difference of what lie ahead.

Margaret had written her father several days ago telling him when to expect her home and to meet her at the train station.  As the train pulled in, Margaret looked out and didn’t seem him about.  A porter helped her exit the coach with her bag.  Feeling lost she walked toward the carriages for hire when she felt a touch on her shoulder.  Still remembering her attacker, she whirled fiercely to face who touched her.

“I’m sorry, Miss Hale.  I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Hello, Mr. Bell.  It’s nice to see you.  I fear my reaction to your touch is caused from an attack I suffered while at school.  My attacker approached me in much the same way.  I’m sorry for my display.”

“Well, I am certainly horrified to hear about your attack.  Your father had not mentioned that to me.”  Mr. Bell said with real concern.

“It wasn’t all that long ago and I didn’t want to worry him, so I never told him.  Do you know why he isn’t here to greet me?”  Margaret stopped walking to ask.  “Something’s happened to him, hasn’t it?  Is he so very ill?”

Mr. Bell carried her satchel, leading her towards the carriages.  “Margaret, I will speak when we are in the coach.”

Margaret could feel the tears welling in her eyes.  If it hadn’t been bad news he would have alleviated her concern there and then, and he hadn’t.

As they approached Mr. Bell’s carriage, the driver had the door open and took the baggage setting it in a boot in the back.  Mr. Bell handed Margaret inside then followed, sitting beside her.  He could see Margaret was crying and he took her hand and began to rub it.  “Margaret, I am afraid I have the worst news possible.”

“Father has passed away, hasn’t he?”  Margaret couldn’t help but let out the sobs that she had been holding back.  “Tell me what happened.”

“Margaret, I have been your father’s closest friend since college, I decided to be the one to tell you.  There is even worse news than your father.  I am taking you to my home because I think I will need to tend to you.  This is the worst hardship I have ever encountered and I need to help you through it.”

“I can’t imagine what can be worse than loosing father, but get it all out, please.”

“I would rather wait until you are at my home.  You will need a brandy.  Just a few more minutes until we’re there.  I can tell you that it was I who made the decision to wait a few days in telling you and allow you to go through your graduation ceremony.  There was nothing for you to do here anyway.  Here we are.”

The driver opened the door and Mr. Bell assisted a trembling Margaret out and to his front door.  Mary, Mr. Bell’s live-in housekeeper came to open the door.  “Mary, fix two brandies, please.  Is there a room prepared for Miss Hale?

“Yes, sir.  I’ll take her belongings up when the driver brings them in.”

“Thank you, Mary.”

Mr. Bell removed his coat and hat, laying them across a chair in the parlor.  Margaret had walked over to the settee and was staring into the flames which kept the damp away in the early fall.

Mr. Bell sat next to Margaret.  Mary came back to the room with the brandies and handed them to each one.  He saw that Margaret was already in a state of disbelief and he felt bad that he was going to make it worse.

“Miss Hale, drink your brandy while I tell you what has transpired recently.”

Without looking up Margaret sipped the brandy.  She was finding it difficult to breath, much less swallow.”

“All right, Mr. Bell, I am ready.”

“Yes, your father had been feeling unwell for several weeks.  It seemed to be a problem with his stomach and the doctor had him in bed with mild soups for a few days.  He was being tended to by a nurse’s aide but that was not what took him.”  Bell paused.

“Please, continue,” pleaded Margaret.

“Four days ago your father received a note from the Navy . . .”

“Frederick?”  Margaret looked wide-eyed at Mr. Bell.

“Yes, I am afraid so.  It seems that Frederick had contracted malaria but never wrote home about it.  Frankly, he would have been too weak to try.  He passed away about ten days ago and upon your father reading the Navy’s letter, he suffered a massive heart attack.  Your father died quickly and probably felt little to no pain.”

This book will contain some explicit sensual scenes later in the book.  If that is offensive to you in a Romance novel, you may be well advised to not begin this book.  – Loyal Wynyard

loyalwynyard.com

 

~ Remembering Times Forgotten through Period Drama ~