Okay, tradition demands a sacrificial lamb and the only thing I have to offer is this brand new (as in days-old) opening for the 1760s section of my WIP. It's rough and I haven't done my research on 1700s life yet so there may be anachronisms and lack of detail in the world.
thanks
pH
Josiah Tanner’s vapid countenance hid his contempt for his master’s brother. If Bosthorpe Grange were his kingdom, you’d not find him puling and whining about finding people to share it with. Whoever heard of such nonsense?
‘Tenants, brother? How so?’ his master asked Earl Greville. Mad Earl Greville.
‘Books. Curses. Books. Nevermind...’ the Earl mumbled, curling a tobacco-yellowed lock of greyish hair round a similarly stained, trembling finger.
‘What imprudence ails you? You’d invite strangers in your home? And—’
‘Strangers?’ the Earl shrieked, and Josiah flinched even though he stood at the tatty panelled doors to the drawing room, a fair distance away from the brothers. ‘You have the measure of it then, Samuel. Strangers indeed! I have no need to invite them!’
‘Tell me, then, brother,’ his master said, softening, putting his cane across the crabs claw arms of the chair nearest, and pulled off his ivory scarf - I could teach the Mad Earl’s butler some manners in stewardship, Josiah thought; he scooted over and took the scarf in silence. He looked at the cane. Yes, he would enjoy teaching that sloping, dimwit ass how to care for guests.
The Earl had calmed somewhat but now slumped dramatically over his desk. ‘Oh! Brother, dear, dear Samuel. You look on me as you look on poor Adeline, as if her whiffs and megrims have infected me.’
‘I’m concerned, Nestor...’
‘No, brother, you indulge me with your soft voice and tilted head.’
Josiah gave a polite cough but his master made a brisk shake of his head. He’d have to stay and witness this, then.
‘Nestor, you’re talking of leasing the wings. I know you’ve no need to.’
‘Not, financially, no,’ the Earl said into his folded arms, ‘but I need companionship.’
Josiah dreaded what next would come from his master’s lips.
‘I could stay with you for a spell. Marlborough has no need for me - I was considering summer in Florence but I might enjoy Lowe's sea air instead.’
There it was; madness begetting madness, Josiah thought, and for how long? He looked across the rolling lawns towards the lake. At least there would be somewhere to go when the Earl was having his next storm of histrionics. Early daffodils speared the lawn from beneath - perhaps Josiah would have a word with the groundsmen, too, as well as the sloppy butler. Even the ancient yews looked shaggy and unkempt. He thought of the street-urchins who begged around Salisbury.
‘By summer’s end you’ll be gone though. The solution is temporary, at best!’
‘By autumn fall you’d want rid of us, I daresay, eh, Tanner?’
Josiah snapped out of his reverie on disciplining the Bosthorpe staff. ‘Yes, sir, quite possibly.’
‘Well, it will take more than a season to read what I’ve found, Samuel, and even longer to make sense of it - and proper arrangements.’
He could not see from back here what his master was doing, but he must have given the Mad Earl some silent response because he spun around and walked to a sea chest covered in a thick veneer of either dust or - what was that, building sand? Instead of opening the arched lid, the Earl reached into the side and brought out a small olive booklet. He threw it onto the cluttered desk.
Thin papers and ancient-looking parchments wafted to the floor in the breeze, and a small cloud of dust puffed from the booklet.
‘Hundreds of these, brother, hundreds!’ The Earl’s eyes bulged. ‘The woman was mad!’
Josiah stifled a laugh at the irony, although he also wondered what the little book was. His master was not so interested; he was busy collecting the papers from the polished red floor.
‘The Unquiet? Our Brooding Dead? Brother, these essays cannot be doing your soul much good.’ He put the papers back on the desk. ‘There shall be no need for such morbid distractions when I’m here.’
‘Maybe. I hope not. But once you’ve gone...’
‘Nestor, tidy them away,’
But the Earl waffled on regardless, ‘It’ll be just me and them again...’
‘Who, Nestor, for all the saints and angels’ sake?’
The Earl bent and retrieved a parchment that his brother had missed. He placed it on the desk with a strange reverence and pointed to it - reluctantly, careful it seemed, not to touch it.
Josiah inched towards the desk, intrigued by the large calligraphic swirls on the parchment.
Encyclopedia Daemonica.
‘Saints and angels, indeed, Samuel.’ The Mad Earl said.
thanks
pH
Josiah Tanner’s vapid countenance hid his contempt for his master’s brother. If Bosthorpe Grange were his kingdom, you’d not find him puling and whining about finding people to share it with. Whoever heard of such nonsense?
‘Tenants, brother? How so?’ his master asked Earl Greville. Mad Earl Greville.
‘Books. Curses. Books. Nevermind...’ the Earl mumbled, curling a tobacco-yellowed lock of greyish hair round a similarly stained, trembling finger.
‘What imprudence ails you? You’d invite strangers in your home? And—’
‘Strangers?’ the Earl shrieked, and Josiah flinched even though he stood at the tatty panelled doors to the drawing room, a fair distance away from the brothers. ‘You have the measure of it then, Samuel. Strangers indeed! I have no need to invite them!’
‘Tell me, then, brother,’ his master said, softening, putting his cane across the crabs claw arms of the chair nearest, and pulled off his ivory scarf - I could teach the Mad Earl’s butler some manners in stewardship, Josiah thought; he scooted over and took the scarf in silence. He looked at the cane. Yes, he would enjoy teaching that sloping, dimwit ass how to care for guests.
The Earl had calmed somewhat but now slumped dramatically over his desk. ‘Oh! Brother, dear, dear Samuel. You look on me as you look on poor Adeline, as if her whiffs and megrims have infected me.’
‘I’m concerned, Nestor...’
‘No, brother, you indulge me with your soft voice and tilted head.’
Josiah gave a polite cough but his master made a brisk shake of his head. He’d have to stay and witness this, then.
‘Nestor, you’re talking of leasing the wings. I know you’ve no need to.’
‘Not, financially, no,’ the Earl said into his folded arms, ‘but I need companionship.’
Josiah dreaded what next would come from his master’s lips.
‘I could stay with you for a spell. Marlborough has no need for me - I was considering summer in Florence but I might enjoy Lowe's sea air instead.’
There it was; madness begetting madness, Josiah thought, and for how long? He looked across the rolling lawns towards the lake. At least there would be somewhere to go when the Earl was having his next storm of histrionics. Early daffodils speared the lawn from beneath - perhaps Josiah would have a word with the groundsmen, too, as well as the sloppy butler. Even the ancient yews looked shaggy and unkempt. He thought of the street-urchins who begged around Salisbury.
‘By summer’s end you’ll be gone though. The solution is temporary, at best!’
‘By autumn fall you’d want rid of us, I daresay, eh, Tanner?’
Josiah snapped out of his reverie on disciplining the Bosthorpe staff. ‘Yes, sir, quite possibly.’
‘Well, it will take more than a season to read what I’ve found, Samuel, and even longer to make sense of it - and proper arrangements.’
He could not see from back here what his master was doing, but he must have given the Mad Earl some silent response because he spun around and walked to a sea chest covered in a thick veneer of either dust or - what was that, building sand? Instead of opening the arched lid, the Earl reached into the side and brought out a small olive booklet. He threw it onto the cluttered desk.
Thin papers and ancient-looking parchments wafted to the floor in the breeze, and a small cloud of dust puffed from the booklet.
‘Hundreds of these, brother, hundreds!’ The Earl’s eyes bulged. ‘The woman was mad!’
Josiah stifled a laugh at the irony, although he also wondered what the little book was. His master was not so interested; he was busy collecting the papers from the polished red floor.
‘The Unquiet? Our Brooding Dead? Brother, these essays cannot be doing your soul much good.’ He put the papers back on the desk. ‘There shall be no need for such morbid distractions when I’m here.’
‘Maybe. I hope not. But once you’ve gone...’
‘Nestor, tidy them away,’
But the Earl waffled on regardless, ‘It’ll be just me and them again...’
‘Who, Nestor, for all the saints and angels’ sake?’
The Earl bent and retrieved a parchment that his brother had missed. He placed it on the desk with a strange reverence and pointed to it - reluctantly, careful it seemed, not to touch it.
Josiah inched towards the desk, intrigued by the large calligraphic swirls on the parchment.
Encyclopedia Daemonica.
‘Saints and angels, indeed, Samuel.’ The Mad Earl said.
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). I wonder if it might help idiots like me if the Earl is given first and brother after, with perhaps some confirmation of what kind of master we're talking -- ie whether Josiah is an actual slave (well, strictly he wouldn't be in legal terms) or just valet. The conversation also confused me a little on the first read, as the responses didn't follow -- though I can see that this may well be deliberate to show how out-of-it the Earl is.
