#Moorfield Houses

[fuzzysparrow]

Simeon Saves the Skyline

Dear Agent Simeon,High-flying City trader, Hugh G. Bowness, has wanted to get a London skyscraper named after him for years, hoping to become as much talked about as the Cheese Grater, the Walkie Talkie and The Gherkin. However, no amount of bribery can influence the city planners, leaving Hugh G’s grand legacy plans in tatters. As revenge for being snubbed, Hugh has stolen plans for the City of…

[byrdieyadroit]

What I'd like to see for season 4 of Bridgerton (***this is my opinion please take with a grain of salt I know how you girls like to tussle)

**Spoilers for Book 3 if you haven't read it

Obviously they're going to get rid of the massive time gap between the masquerade ball and when Sophie meets Benedict again and so a lot of it will be rushed alongside some storylines revolving around the Featheringtons and probably the other Bridgerton siblings. They might start preparing for a Eloise storyline soon (which I have thoughts on)

I'd love it if they would make Sophie an up and coming actress. She goes to the theatre when she can to see as many performances as possible and maybe get to know some of the performers who are being hired for a job to attend the Bridgerton ball. Maybe the leader of a certain troupe she wants to join will be there, so she just has to attend.

I know people love the Cinderella story and all but I find it in comparison to the other books to be a bit boring and cliche and out of step with what Netflix has built so far. I still think they should keep the Cinderella moment at the ball though - Mrs Gibbons gives her her grandmother's dress and gloves and she sneaks into the ball yadda yadda but I'd like her motivations to be a bit different.

She's not there to take in how the other lives or dream about finding Prince Charming but to begin her own career and network - she just so happens to actually find love while doing it 😂 I'm not saying they should "girl-boss" Sophie (god no) but I'd like for them to give her more agency and control of own her life. Being as she's not technically of the upper classes, she can actually do a lot more than say Eloise can. I'd like that one of the connections that Benedict and Sophie would have is the love of the arts and a passion for a career that makes no money 😂😂 an artist and an actor - come on there's so much there!

Fast forward she's caught immediately and thrown out of the house. But it doesn't end for her, she goes immediately to her fav theatre troupe and asks for a job and steadily rises up the ranks - in particular in breeches roles which she becomes quite famous for - maybe she'll become famous for playing ridiculously over the top rakes from the Restoration era subtly hinting at known rakes and playboys of the ton (maybe a character that might be too on the nose about a certain Bridgerton). I'd love it if they did a whole musical hall number about sailors and the navy 🤭🤭 we'll get to see actresses scandalously wearing trousers.

It'll be nice to see the Regency "underworld" a bit more and actually get to see some Molly houses and the 19th century subculture of queer London (Convent Garden, Moorfields, St. James's Park, etc). I'd love to hear some Polari spoken as well.

Naturally both her and Benedict world's come together because they happen to run in similar circles but every time he meets Sophie again she's always in a different character or disguise and the love story is him trying to get to know the real her and she falling in love with him but knowing ultimately that can't be together.

A lot of Sophie's pain comes from the fact that she's the illegitimate daughter of an Earl (who she believes never loved her), that she has to constantly hide who she really is and that a world that she could've been a part of is taken from her or rather she is barred from entry. But on the stage, in the theatre she can be whoever she wants to be and has come to find a family of her own.

Rather than dreaming of a Prince Charming, perhaps she wants to be Prince Charming herself. To have the power to change the lives of others and bring joy to them.

Idk I'd like for Sophie to have a bit more agency in her life. I think they did so well in adapting Kate, Penelope, Eloise and the other female characters on screen as well as giving Benedict more to him than in the books - they literally could take it anywhere. And honestly, just make Sophie queer as well - adds another element to her character and why she feels more at home in the theatre idk. Fans of Tipping the Velvet will get what I mean. Perhaps every time they meet is because they keep flirting with the same people at the same time and end up unintentionally dick-blocking each other.

I'd love there to be a running gag that Benedict never catches on that Sophie is the mystery Lady until the very end that even she's surprised he never guessed but everyone else had.

While her star is growing she begins to attract admirers and men wanting her to be their mistress - one annoyingly being Philip Cavender. I'd prefer they scrap the storyline of her working for the Cavender family (or her working as a maid entirely) and instead she's invited to his little party for a job and rather it is a friend of Sophie that works for the family who gets into trouble with him and she ends up saving her instead - Benedict just happens to be there and helps them escape. I just find the knight in shining armour to be so tired - it would be more funny if the knight just happens to be a woman.

What gets Sophie in trouble is that she still keeps in contact with her stepsister Posey, which has potential to draw scandal and so in a way she's trapped between two worlds which inevitably leads her to getting arrested. The arrest causes a huge scandal but despite all of it and even learning about her illegitimacy (just bring that up early rather than drawing it out like in the books), Benedict still loves her and intends to risk his social standing to be with her - even getting into conflict with his brother's about it.

She still refuses to be his mistress again because she doesn't want her children to grow up the way she did and she also enjoys her life, perhaps being with Benedict helps her overcome her internal shame and helps her bring something different to her performances - maybe she goes on to do more dramatic roles. And she also doesn't want to give up the stage. Ironically the arrest and her release has made her that much more popular and she becomes somewhat of a working class hero. (Again bring up the arrest earlier rather than at the end - don't have enough episodes or time)

They keep meeting again and again because Sophie is hired to do more private gigs at the many parties of the Ton and they keep sleeping with each other with Sophie still insisting she will not be his mistress. Rinse and repeat.

Posy finds Sophie's father's will and dowry and goes to Violet with it and they deduce that Araminta had stolen it, yadda yadda liar revealed. Sophie gets naturalised as the Earls daughter and so they can get married. (Although tbf do they have to? Lemme not...)

Anyway that's what I'd love to see but probably won't happen. It will be interesting to see what they'll do since show Benedict is so different to book Benedict and I would hate for him to regress since I love what they've done for him so far idk. I'd just like for Benedict to find his equal like how his siblings have. I find the book versions to be so unequal and manipulative when it doesn't have to be that - even within the period culture of the time.

I'd like to see Sophie as more like Kitty Fisher, Maria Gunning, Harriette Wilson and Sarah Siddons (I know a lot of them are not Regency women but it still counts)

I mean so what if Sophie does become a mistress or even a courtesan - that wouldn't put Benedict off (but I know how whorephobic this fandom can get 👀)

I should just write the fanfic huh 😩

[normally0]

Unlocking Architectural Dimensions: The Magic Angle's Influence

In the realm of architecture, the magic angle transcends its scientific roots to become a catalyst for spatial exploration and conceptual innovation. Defined at approximately 54.7356°, this angle, symbolized by θm, holds profound implications not only in nuclear magnetic resonance but also in architectural representation and built form.

At its core, the magic angle intersects with the concept of the fourth dimension, a realm where time and space intertwine in infinite possibilities. In architectural representation, particularly in isometric drawing, the magic angle serves as a gateway to depict three-dimensional forms on a two-dimensional plane. By aligning coordinates at 120-degree angles, architects create visual constructions that hint at the elusive fourth dimension, albeit with inherent visual limitations.

Beyond representation, the magic angle finds practical application in built architecture's geometry. From the subtle play of roof pitch angles in structures like the Moorfield's Tabernacle in Shoreditch to the avant-garde designs of conceptual models like House X by Peter Eisenman, architects leverage θm to imbue spaces with a sense of dynamism and intrigue. By manipulating geometric relationships, they evoke a heightened spatial experience that challenges conventional perceptions of form and dimensionality.

Yet, the magic angle's significance extends beyond its mathematical precision. Its association with Scientology's mythology of Thetans adds a layer of mystique, suggesting a convergence of scientific inquiry and spiritual exploration. As Thetans are described as immortal spiritual beings, the resonance with nuclear magnetic resonance underscores architecture's capacity to evoke transcendental experiences beyond the physical realm.

In essence, the magic angle represents a convergence of scientific inquiry, artistic expression, and philosophical contemplation within architectural discourse. It invites architects to push the boundaries of spatial representation and design, unlocking new dimensions of perception and imagination. As θm continues to shape architectural practice, it serves as a testament to the enduring quest for innovation and enlightenment in the built environment.

[louisvillekyneighborhoods]

Springhurst Village of Abbeywood Patio Homes For Sale Louisville KY 40241 is off Springhurst Blvd at Abbeywood Village Drive http://www.eastlouisvillerealty.com/patio_homes_louisville_ky_condos_for_sale.htm

In Springhurst Village of Abbeywood you can expect condo units between 1700 sqft to 1900 sqft in size, all built between 1994 and 1995.

Springhurst Village of Abbeywood amenities include a Playground, Clubhouse, Tennis Court, and Pool.

Springhurst Village of Abbeywood is conveniently located near Springhurst Blvd at Abbeywood Village Drive, which means easy access to restaurants, shopping, and entertainment. Streets in Village of Abbeywood include Abbeywood Village Dr, Abbeywood Village Way, Adelaide Ct, Hawkesbury Ct, and Pictor Way.

To see a list up-to-date with prices of all East End Patio Homes for sale in Louisville Ky visit http://www.eastlouisvillerealty.com/patio_homes_louisville_ky_condos_for_sale.htm

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Looking for other Villages of Springhurst Louisville Ky houses, condos, and patio homes for sale? Please visit http://www.eastlouisvillerealty.com/springhurst to see Felsmere Houses, Hartwick Townhouse Condos, Abbeywood Patio Homes, Ivybridge Houses, Moorfield Houses, Springbrooke Houses, Springhurst Gardens Houses, Springmont Patio Homes, Springmeadows Patio Homes, Tuxford Patio Homes, Valencia at Springhurst Patio Homes, White Blossom Houses, and Wynbrooke Houses.

Earl Weikel, Realtor East Louisville Realty, LLC 3801 Springhurst Blvd, Suite 105, Louisville KY 40241 Office: 502-821-3062

[amphibious-thing]

One of the things I like about the Montague siblings series is that while its historical fantasy and thus not particularly historically accurate it’s still very much inspired by real history. Even little things feel deliberate like in The Lady's Guide to Petticoats and Piracy we find out that Monty and Percy moved to Moorfields, a location associated with mollies. There was a market (cruising ground) known as Sodomites' Walk in Moorfields.

“There's a Walk in the upper Moorfields,” Thomas Newton explained “by the Side of the Wall that joins to the Watch-home and parts the upper Field from the middle I knew this to be a Place that Sodomites frequented, and was well acquainted with the Methods they took in picking one another up.” (the 1726 trial of William Brown)

It seems there was also molly houses in the area. Thomas Wright kept a molly house at his place in “Christopher's-Alley” (now Christopher Street). However he later moved to Beech lane where Thomas Newton recalls “he likewise kept Rooms for the Entertainment of the Molly-Culls, and sold Ale as he did at his other House.” Constable William Davison describes Wright’s house (the one in Beech lane) as follows:

In a large Room there we found one a fiddling, and eight more a dancing Country Dances, making vile Motions, and singing, Come let us — finely. Then they sat in one another's Lap, talked Bawdy, and practised a great many Indcencies. There was a Door in the great Room, which opened into a little Room, where there was a Bed, and into this little Room several of the Company went; sometimes they shut the Door after them, but sometimes they left it open, and then we could see part of their Actions.

(The 1726 trial of Thomas Wright)

Bellow is a section of John Rocque's 1746 map of London in which you can see Moorfields, Sodomites' Walk (between Upper Moorfields and Middle Moorfields) and Christopher's Alley.

[venetianwindow]

220520 • 1:23pm 🏙

Touring Nairn’s City of London: northern and western edges. I seized a sunny day to go see some of Ian Nairn’s destinations and more.

The Barbican is a good first stop, a lovely bit of City Brutalism (though maze-like). I find Brutalist buildings so attractive when complemented by sunshine. Enjoyed visiting the book fair at St Giles-without-Cripplegate! Wonderful prices and selection with new stock coming in, plus it’s in a sweet little church.

Depending on how you leave the Barbican, you may come across St Alphege London Wall. I’m quite fond of ruins - there is a wistful charm to the fragmented identity of what once was. Broadgate has an amusing (and inadvertent?) modern homage to St Alphege.

Following Nairn, we head to Finsbury Circus for Lutyens’ Britannic House. Coming from Broadgate, the keen eye might notice a commemoration plaque for the old St Mary Moorfields. I’ve probably seen Lutyens around, but this is the first time I’ve consciously visited one of his works; don’t know much about him but the statues and classical details were charming.

We now come to a blooper in my tour. When I mapped out Nairn’s route, I erroneously put down Sun Street rather than Sun St Passage. Nevertheless, it is fascinating to walk down; you fancy the yellow bricks quiver in the face of One Crown Pl.

Exchange Square is a good place to stop and spend a sunny afternoon in. From there, the actual destination of Sun St Passage leads to Liverpool St station. Bit disappointed when I couldn’t find the peek at Hawksmoor’s Christ Church as Nairn described - a consequence of the City’s endless expansion perhaps? The City bleeds further into its surroundings, melting old boundaries with its ever increasing strength of commerce. Is it for better or worse? Maybe only time will tell. Those clusters of glass towers certainly feel a little menacing sometimes.

As I caught my bus, a view of St Botolph-without-Bishopsgate concludes the trip. It’s one of the 3 St Botolphs in the area; there’s also Aldgate and Aldersgate. Whew! Church names amirite. (City church tour eventually, I promise.)

☞ studygram

[buttercupsfrocks]

Greetings, tumblr. I warn you this isn't going to be much of a post for a whole raft of reasons:-

It's hotter than Satan's buttcrack outside and, consequently, inside my un-airconditioned first floor flat.

It's impossible for me to look soigné or remotely put together when I'm a sweaty, irritable mess.

There is a British Gas engineer currently boring holes in the outside walls of my flat with the aim of relocating my gas meter. The same thing is going on in my downstairs neighbours' flat. We have no say in this noisy, intrusive, cat-terrorising folderol. They've been threatening to do it for four years and we are literally the last house in the last street to be done. 'twas ever thus.

I had in fact written about two thirds of this original post and saved it as a draft. Tumblr since appears to have eaten that draft and washed it down with a nice Chianti. I have since lost the will to live.

My hair, as you can see, looked like crap when I took these pics.

The reason my hair looks like shite is because twelve days ago I had a cataract in my right eye removed and getting one's 'do done is not recommended for a couple of weeks after surgery.

Prior to surgery I had to take out my right contact lens and affect an eye-patch for a couple of weeks. I did not look piratical. Mainly because the size and positioning of my ears made the elastic intolerable after twenty minutes tops. Instead I had to make do with a Moorfields eyeshield stuffed with tissues and stuck to my face with Micropore. In 40ºC.

I'm hoping to get the left eye sorted late September/early October. A few weeks after that I'll find out whether I'll still need to wear contact lenses for distance and what prescription my new readers will be.

So, yeah, cataracts. Only partial but rubbish genetics on my paternal grandmother's side have resulted in those and an official diagnosis of Pathological Myopia along with a squint I didn't even know I had. The cataract/next-best-thing-to-blind double whammy has been causing me double vision and a blind spot in my right eye for years and the situation was becoming critical. I'd also experienced occular migraines during lockdown, though I think they were down to stress. But, in short, my eyesight was a shitshow and I'd gotten whiplash from the conflicting advice I've received by eye specialists the length and breadth of London. I'm relieved to say Moorfields cataract department got the last word. Thus far I'm optimistic. Three weeks ago I couldn't read the numbers on buses unless I was physically boarding one. Now I could probably see them from space.

But back to the main content of the post. Identically-cut Monki frock, gingham edition. Thus far they've offered this design in black, beige, light blue, orange, and lilac gingham. But there's a reason why the emerald green variation called to my heart.

Between the ages of 4 and 9 I attended a tiny private co-educational school. Admittedly this was many years ago but even then it was quaint and anachronistic. It was run by three sisters called Fowle and I had an elocution teacher who was older than God's dog and still wore long skirts and a bonnet. On Mondays we had to march, in single file, around the room we took dance classes in, in freshly whitened plimsoles to the strains of what later became the theme music to Monty Python's Flying Circus; this mysterious custom was known as Drill. We walked to the Headmistress's home for lunch every day, which was cooked by the kinder of her two sisters. That's how small the school was. It was also attended by kids of every conceivable nationality and ethnicity, and after it closed in the early 70s, the building subsequently became one of Erin Pizzey's shelters for women fleeing somestic violence.

As a sprog my summer school uniform featured a green gingham dress, which I always rather liked. But – get this – the size of the gingham squares increased proportionally with the age and height of the wearer. So, while my dresses had teeny tiny squares on them, the "seniors" had big ones on theirs. By the time I was of high school age and attending a different institution, sixth formers were no longer required to wear uniform, but as soon as I clocked this dress the exotic allure of achieving Big Green Square Status came rushing back and I knew I had to claim it.

Stay weird, tumblr. (And hydrated).

[rachel-homeanddesign-sims]

I gained 100 wonderful followers!

Thank you so much everyone! It really means a lot to me! Here's a little gift, but I hope you like it.

Moorfield Court: 3 story house, 2 pools, garage, 4 bedrooms, 5 bathrooms, terrace. This place is cozy and comfortable.

EP: Seasons, Supernatural. No CC.

I do use Store content: Inflected Double Doors, Amber Rose Cathedral Window (the Last Venue of Amore), Hang Left and Right Curved Colonial Stair Rail, Colonial Mansion Railing (The Now & Then Century Manor), Stones Throw Greenhouse, Traditional Gable (Midnight Hollow), Jolly Pavilion Rug (The Boardwalk) and Tea Set.

DOWNLOAD SFS    40x40

Sincerely,

Rachel

[tumblrisweird]

I’m putting together a list of real-world references to people and places in Fallen London. Most of this is speculative; I am not an authority in any way. I’m sure there are plenty I’m missing and I omitted the most obvious ones like the Royal Family, Big Ben, etc. Note that there are some lore spoilers here that you might want to figure out yourself. Feel free to add more! (“=“ means “is the FL version of” and “->” means “gets its name from or is inspired by”)

Royal Beth = Bethlehem Royal Hospital (where we get the term Bedlam House)

The Manager of the Royal Beth = Gilgamesh

The King with a Hundred Hearts = Enkidu

The First City = Uruk

The Duchess = Ankhesenamun

The Cantigaster = Tutankhamen, a.k.a. King Tut

The Second City = Thebes or Amarna

The Third City = a major Mayan city, possibly Tikal EDIT: or Chichen Itza

The Gracious Widow = Shirin, Daughter of Mongke Khan

The Fourth City = Karakorum

Mt. Palmerston -> Henry John Temple a.k.a. “Lord Palmerston”

St. Fiacre's = St. Paul's Cathedral (via St. Fiacre)

Wilmot's End -> Montague Wilmot

Spite = Spitalfields

New Newgate -> Newgate Prison

GHRR -> Devil's Highway

Blythenhale = Bethnal Green

Bugsby's Marshes = Moorfields

Elderwick = Aldwych

Irem = Iram of the Pillars

Low Barnet -> Chipping/High Barnet

Venomous Caricaturist = Carlo Pellegrini

Dashing Debunker = Harry Houdini

Mr. Huffman = Charles Dickens

Benthic College = University College (via Jeremy Bentham)

Summerset College = Kings College (via Somerset House)

Epigrammatic Irishman = Oscar Wilde

Dr. Schlomo = Sigmund Schlomo Freud

The Jovial Contrarian = Georges Auguste Couthon

Hood’s Bridge = Waterloo Bridge (via The Bridge of Sighs by Thomas Hood)

[mhisadj]

Jame Moorfield - Midnight Magic

Off of That Thing You Love.

Hey hey kids, it’s a return of Bandcamp Monday after a short post-Halloween hiatus! And we welcome you back with some fabulous house music out of Virginia. 

The thing I love about house music is that, at its core, it is deeply meditative -- hence ‘trance’ as another electronic music term. It’s just another type of whirling dervish... go on and spin and transcend... 

[cherylmmbookblog]

#BlogTour The Spanish House by Cherry Radford

#BlogTour The Spanish House by Cherry Radford

 It’s a pleasure to take part in the BlogTour The Spanish House by Cherry Radford. About the Author Cherry Radford has been a keyboard player in a band, piano teacher at the Royal Ballet School and a post-doctoral scientist at London’s Moorfield’s Eye Hospital. She began her first novel in a coffee break at a scientific conference. She writes uplifting novels about identity, renewal and finding…

[hellospunkiebrewster]

First vs last, 10, Sinclaire

Ooooh I like this one. First and last trimester. I’ll do these as entries in Ernest’s big ol’ new diary at Ledford Park.

--

Ledford Park, December 25, 1816

Another year brings another Christmastime to Ledford. While the finishings have been placed on the new great house, it was hard for me to call it my home just yet. Gone from the halls was every whisper of an eidolon, leaving the new house starkly blank. I suppose it means I should create new memories. 

Tonight, the walls of this house and pages of this book gain an imprint of one of the happiest memories I will ever know. My dearest, Emmeline, is with child. After our guests from Edgewater departed and the staff had retired for the night, she brought out a small wrapped box. I felt sheepish in that I hadn’t thought of anything additional for my wife, considerate and kind as always. She insisted that this surprise was something for the both of us and beamed though I knew the day had been taxing for her. Even her favorite figgy pudding turned her stomach at the rich dinner we had prepared. Inside the box Emmeline had wrapped the tiniest pair of socks I had ever seen with delicate flowers embroidered at the cuff. The surge of joy that swelled within me is one I am not sure will ever be surpassed. I am to be the father of her child! 

With joy always come worry over the unknown. Weeks ago, I began to grow concerned with her current disposition, the recent cold snap bringing with it a horrific turn of her stomach. I wished to bring her to the seaside to ease her ailment, despite my commitments, only at this time of year the cold wind is likely to do more harm than good. She eats little these days, the smell of sweetmeats drives away her appetite.

There is much work to be done here. Tomorrow I shall start by sending for a midwife and an accoucheur. Perhaps two. One can never be too cautious in these things. Should it be required we may travel to London.

Ernest Sinclaire

--

Ledford Park, June 9, 1817

We return to Ledford early this year to begin Emmeline’s confinement in our home. She insists it is not necessary for me to be so preoccupied and to finish my work in town, but there is little I can do if my mind is here with her instead of at Westminster. I shall take the time with her, to fuss and dote on her, no matter now much she and others – the dowager has relentlessly told me I am making too much of a fuss for a man – tell me this not my duty. I swore to Emmeline on the day we married, and many times before, that her challenges were mine.

The London season was a quiet one this year, much to Emmeline’s chagrin. My wife adores dancing and late night conversation with friends, but her condition this year leaves her tired by the early evening. Our child tumbles inside of her each and every night, waking her.

Her appetite has returned and with it her belly grows, each day rounder with our child.

I have called for her London accoucheur to come and be housed at the inn in nearby Moorfield at my expense. He has been touted as one of the best. While the gentleman tells me that my wife has had nothing but a routine pregnancy, it does little to calm my worried mind. She is so small and our child grows larger within her by the day. The local midwives we have called all tell me the same. I worry over her health and the health of our child so much that the closer the day comes, the less sleep I am able to achieve. 

I am still ever eager to meet our child, but with the passing of time also comes a sense of disquiet of which I have never felt before. There are nights I wake in a sweat, reaching out for my wife, only to find her sleeping soundly. Our roles have switched at meals wherein now she eats her fill and I struggle to keep down a bite. I know not why this worriment has taken hold of me but it only gets stronger as Emmeline gets closer to delivering our child.

Ernest Sinclaire

[louisvillekyneighborhoods]

Springhurst Village of Ivybridge Louisville KY 40241 is off White Blossom Blvd at Ivybridge Circle http://www.shoplouisvillekyhomesforsale.com/property-search/list/?searchid=9442308

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Shop North East Louisville Ky Homes for Sale Priced Between $250,000 to $1,000,000 http://www.shoplouisvillekyhomesforsale.com/property-search/list/?searchid=9442308

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We love to help, call us at 502-821-3062 with any questions about Springhurst Village of Ivybridge homes and houses.

Earl Weikel, Realtor East Louisville Realty, LLC 3801 Springhurst Blvd, Suite 105, Louisville KY 40241 Office: 502-821-3062

[amphibious-thing]

Known Molly Houses

The first known mention of a molly house is from a 1709 book the History of the London Clubs by Ned Ward. He mentions a “certain Tavern in the City” where mollies met. However Ward did not mention a name or location because he was “unwilling to fix an Odium on the House”.

For the most part we know the names and locations of molly houses because of the molly house raids. This is why most of the molly houses on this list are from the 1720s when there was a series of molly house raids. We shouldn't assume that the gaps with no known molly houses means there weren’t any during this period. It’s more likely that these gaps reflect periods where molly houses remained a well guarded secret allowing them to operate unmolested by police.

Mother Clap’s Molly House

Location: Field-Lane, Holbourn “next to the Bunch of Grapes”.

Owner: Margert Clap

Active: 1720s; shut down February 1726 (New Style)

Source: Trial of Margaret Clap, 11 July 1726; trial of Gabriel Lawrence, 20 April 1726; trial of William Griffin, 20 April 1726

Thomas Wright’s Molly House

Location: Originally Christophers Alley, Moorfields. Moved to Beech Lane sometime between 10 Jan 1725 (New Style) - 17 Nov 1725

Owner: Thomas Wright

Active: 1720s; Wright was found guilty of sodomy 20th April 1726

Source: Trial of Thomas Wright, 20 April 1726

Red Lyon

Location: Crown-Court, Knaves-Acre

Owner: Thomas Orme

Active: 1720s

Source: Trial of George Redear, 20 April 1726

The Royal-Oak

Location: Corner of St. George's-Square, Pall-Mall

Owner: George Whytle/Whittle

Active: 1720s

Source: Trial of George Whytle, 20 April 1726

The 3 Tobacco-Rolls or the Tobacco Roll and Crown

Location: Drury Lane, Covent Garden

Owner: Mr. Jones

Active: 1720s

Source: Trial of Martin Mackintosh, 11 July 1726

Plump Nelly’s Molly House

Location: Giltspur Street

Owner: Samuel Roper, alias Plump Nelly

Active: 1720s, Roper died awaiting trial in December 1726

Source: The London Journal, 17 December 1726; The Weekly Journal, 17 December 1726

Whale and Horner’s Molly House

Location: King-street, Westminster

Owner: Robert Whale and York Horner 

Active: 1720s; Whale and Horner were convicted in July 1726

Source: The St. Jame’s Evening Post, 5 July 1726; The Whitehall Evening Post 29 November 1726; The Weekly Journal, 7 and 14 January 1727

Sukey Bevell’s Molly House

Location: The Mint, Southwark

Owner: Sukey Bevell

Active: 1720s

Source: James Dalton's Narrative, 1728

Miss Muff’s Molly House

Location: Black-Lion Yard, White Chappel

Owner: Jonathan Muff

Active: 1720s; shut down on 29th September 1728

Source: Trial of John Bleak Cowland, 16 October 1728; trial of Richard Challoner, 16 October 1728; trial of Isaac Milton, 16 October 1728; The Weekly Journal, 5 October 1728; The Flying-Post, 5 October 1728

Julius Cesar Taylor’s Molly House

Location: Tottenham-Court Road

Owner: Julius Cesar Taylor

Active: 1720s; Taylor was found guilty of “keeping a disorderly House” on 16 October 1728

Source: Trial of Julius Cesar Taylor, 16 October 1728; trial of John Burgess, 16 October 1728

The Bunch of Grapes (possibly, conflicting accounts)

Location: Clare Market

Owner: unknown

Active: 1790s

Source: Rictor Norton, Mother Clap’s Molly House, p185-6

The White Swan

Location: Vere Street, Clare Market

Owner: James Cook

Active: 1810; shut down 8th July 1810

Source: Robert Holloway, The Phœnix of Sodom; Rictor Norton (Ed.), "The Vere Street Club, 1810", Homosexuality in Nineteenth-Century England: A Sourcebook, 7 May 2008, updated 19 Feb. 2019, 18 Apr. 2020 <http://rictornorton.co.uk/eighteen/1810vere.htm>.

[missameliep]

Is This Love? - Part 3

Book: Desire and Decorum

Summary: Elizabeth’s first passion was presented to her in an old house, twelve years before her feet meandered through the gardens of Edgewater. / After her mother fell ill, Elizabeth and Briar talk about life and love while enjoying a day of rest at Grovershire. / Years later, Mary’s words come back to Elizabeth, when she ponders if first impressions are truly deceiving.

Word count: ~5.000 words Notes: * Part of the events in this series take place prior to the story of Book 1 and my series The Pursuit of Happiness, and retell some of the events from the first chapters of that book. The scene with Mr. Sinclaire takes place at Chapter 3, and I reproduced part of the original dialogues. * Characters belong to PixelBerry, except OCs; * English is not my first language.

This is my submission to @julychoiceschallenge​​​ - Day 26: Fairy tale.

Edgewater – March, 1816

Holding her nose up, Elizabeth closed her eyes and let the delightful fragrance of the flowers in bloom fill her lungs.

Painted with uncountable blossoms, some of which she could not name nor recognize, and paths surrounded by perfectly trimmed hedges and statues, the gardens at Edgewater were extraordinary.

However, not all the beauty around could soothe the young woman, whose mind was racing, anxiety running through her veins in the imminence of meeting her father. What if he was no longer the man her mother met at her youth? Twenty years are long enough for life to mould the soul into something else...

Every distraction is welcomed, and more importantly, she could learn more about him previously to their encounter.

After a long ride from Grovershire, stretching her legs at this magnificent place, even if not by choice, seemed somewhat perfect.

Though, the same could not be said about the company.

If not for the sounds of their footsteps on the stony path and the chirping of birds, there would only be a sepulchral silence hanging between them. An unbearable silence.

Shouldn’t we engage in conversation? she ponders, It seems rude to ignore me, even if I’m merely the Earl’s natural daughter as Mr. Sinclaire promptly remarked. Certainly, against his will, he obliged to Dowager Countess Dominique’s request. At least, his gentlemanly manners even if cold are respectful this far...

Not an improper word came from his mouth, despite being completely alone with her. Unlike some previous experiences.

Grovershire – February, 1804.

The first time Elizabeth went to the Dunnes’ stately home at the road to Moorfield, she was mesmerized by its size and froze in place.

For an instant, her green eyes studied everything from the bottom of the stair to the top of the roof covered in white. The tall façade of the two-store construction had a lasting impression on her and it'd take twelve years for Elizabeth to realize the world was so much greater outside Grovershire, and that house was far from being the palace that frequented her infant’s imagination. An estate less than a day of travel away would reveal a completely different world of unimaginable wealth, grandness and as much intrigue as some of the novels she was presented by the Dunne’s dusty library.

Mary’s soft voice called her name, her gloved hand enveloping hers, and they crossed the remaining distance. The fresh snow crunching beneath their boots.

On that winter morning, mother and daughter were ushered inside through the front doors. Her mother brushed flocks of snow from the little girl’s tresses while Elizabeth’s eyes raked around taking everything in, while they followed a man with a commanding voice.

The infant’s small legs struggled to keep up with her mother’s pace until they finally reached the bottom of a spiralling wooden staircase. A pleasant feminine voice caught her attention, and her eyes were drawn to the top, where stood a woman with dark blonde hair styled in an intricate updo and a dress unlike any other paraded at the town square.

The women’s rosy cheeks rounded when she spotted the seamstress. Waving her hands, she invited them upstairs, and mother and daughter followed the woman down a long corridor and past some doors. One door in particular, slightly opened, caught Elizabeth’s attention.

The glimpse of a room covered in wood and shelves filled with books glued her to the floor. At home, they possess two books, an old Bible Mary uses to teach her how to read, and Moll Flanders, which was deemed unsuitable for a girl her age – though her curious eyes have already explored the pages without her mother’s knowledge.

Suddenly, realizing the quietness at the corridor, she sprinted to catch up to her mother, waiting at the end of the corridor with her basket filled with sewing instruments.

For the next hours, sitting on a small wooden bench, Elizabeth observed Mary take the measures of Mrs. Georgiana Dunne, be presented to rich colourful fabrics from Moorfield and London, to drawings of French dresses on magazines and to each one of the woman’s desires.  

“It’s my first Season in years... Now that the boys are growing…” the woman explained with a wistful smile and Mary nodded with understanding.

The next days, Mary worked incessantly on the dresses for Mrs. Dunne, and whenever they went to the house, the young girl craved to have a moment at that room. Dusty books calling for her. Gates to magnificent worlds and formidable characters just waiting to be opened.

One afternoon when the mistress of the house entertained guests at tea-time, and her mother absentmindedly sew the hemline of a dress, singing an old-time favourite, Elizabeth tiptoed her way out of the room. Aware that any day now could be their last spent at that home, the girl took a leap of faith and sneaked into the library.

A victorious grin curled her lips once she cracked the door and walked inside unseen.

Moving alongside the shelves, her little fingers grazed each book, while her tongue pronounced the titles and names imprinted on the spines.

A last look over her shoulder and she took one from the shelf. Fingertip grazing the leather and the sulks of each letter engraved on the cover.

“The Canterbury Tales from –” she paused and failed to pronounce the author’s name.

“Geoffrey Chaucer,” a feminine voice spoke behind her. “A rather unexpected choice of book.”

Peeking over her shoulder, Elizabeth glimpsed the silhouette of Mrs. Dunne on the doorway, and she froze in place. Eyes fixed on the evidence of her crime, she waited to be chastised.

The tapping of the shoes resonated and grew closer, and the girl’s heart thumped faster and louder.

“However, I suppose we can find one that is better suited for a curious little girl as yourself,” said the woman gently taking the book from her hands and brushing past her. “Let me see…”

Elizabeth’s eyes raised from her feet and she peeked at Mrs. Dunne. Her finger was touching the spines while she looked at each book carefully. A satisfied smile when she pulled a green covered one.

“Are you familiar with the tales of Charles Perrault?”

The girl shook her head, averting the woman’s gaze.

“Then you should read this one.” The book and a warm smile were offered to her. “I believe you shall enjoy it. My boys used to love The Little Red Riding Hood.”

Rooted to the ground, Elizabeth stared with amazement at the treasured item on her hands, while the woman turned around and hummed.

“Where is that Botanic treaty? Oh! Here it is!” she wielded the tome like a trophy and ushered the girl outside. “Now, go on, before your mother starts worrying about you.”

Elizabeth could not believe her fortune! Not only her behaviour went unpunished, but the woman lent her a book. An unconcealable wide grin while returning to the room where her mother was working.

That afternoon, sitting on that small bench, she read the first pages. She still didn’t know this one would become her favourite book, nor that only on her third time reading many years later she’d understand what Perrault meant by luring tongues and experience first-hand the dangers of wolves who try to take advantage of unchaperoned young ladies.

Over the years, many other tomes followed this first one. With a gentle smile, Mrs. Dunne offered to lend her as many as she’d like, as long as she promised to share her opinions later. When Mary fell ill on the fall of 1811, Elizabeth took most of her mother’s chores, and she was allowed to spend some moments at the library whenever she went to the Dunnes to pick up the clothes for mending and washing.

Grovershire – July, 1812.

Just a word from the smiling lady and up the stairs Elizabeth went.

A familiar path to a familiar room.

Soon, she stood in front of the heavy wooden door with its carved panels and delicate engravings. The brass doorknob shaded by the years felt cold against her hand when she encircled it.  

With a creak the old door opened to a room bathed in the late morning sunlight, which streamed from large windows and dust danced in the air. The woody and faint musty scents reached her nostrils and, instead of frowning as some would, Elizabeth smiled. The air was filled with the passage of time, but she could also recognize the smoke from old battles and dragons’ flames; the floral scent of gardens from distant and exotic lands and the rosewater exuded by the princess’ hair. This was one of her favourite places, where for a few moments she could have a glimpse of a thousand different lives and experience realities other than the one of a poor seamstress’ daughter from a tiny English village.

Numerous rows of books neatly arranged on the bookshelves that covered two of the room's walls: maroon, ochre and green spines facing outward. Gateways to fantasy worlds that reserve adventures, love, and romance, as well as tragedy and intrigue – and does she love the intrigue!

The quietness of the library only disturbed by the click-clack of the boot’s heels when Elizabeth moved towards the shelves, eager to reach for the next portal.

There were so many books, but she could not help it but returning to her favourites.

On one hand, she could reread Gulliver’s Travels, on the other, she could choose the Greek tragedy Mrs. Dunne recommended. The latter was taken from the shelf, and she opened at a random page and skimmed it.

When I am tossed to such an height of dark foreboding, woman, when my mind / Faceth such straits as these, where should I find a mightier love than thine?¹

What does that even mean? she wondered and continue reading the next verses.

“Do you even know how to read?”

The masculine voice startled her, disrupting the reading.

Too absorbed by the difficult choice, she failed to notice his steps or, perhaps, furtive as a cat, he intentionally muffled the tapping of his soles on the hardwood floor. Either way, his presence was unwanted.

Turning around, she faced Mrs. Dunne’s youngest son. The face peppered with freckles much closer than anticipated. Red hair tousled and spiked as a burning fire on the top of his head. Despite his cheeks conserving a childish roundness, Sean Dunne was no longer a child. The fifteen-year-old has outgrown her since she saw him last around Christmas time.

Elizabeth is acquainted with the Dunnes boys for years, and even though Sean was not particularly unattractive, he certainly was not as handsome as his older brothers, especially Francis with his perfect styled locks. Though, the young girl considers, the most unpleasant features are not his thin lips or the narrow chest, but his tongue always ready to spit out cruelty.

“Why you ask?” Elizabeth retorted with another question, unable to conceal the annoyance inspired by his presence, and lowered her eyes, as expected. On the floor, the muddy imprints from his brown dirty boots marked his path all the way from the door.

“People like you usually don’t.”

She raised her chin and contemplated the contemptuous smirk on his lips.

“People like me?”

“Poor.”

“Oh, I see. Since I am poor, I must be illiterate?” she questioned, eyes blazing with indignation.

His head bobbed and she took a deep breath. After so many visits to this library, it seems almost impossible that he still assumes she cannot read. Was he trying to irritate her and chase her away from this place?

Ignoring his presence, her eyes returned to the book.

“So, can you?”

Without raising her eyes from the book, Elizabeth asked, “You assume every single person is exactly the same according to their origin?”

“Those assumptions never failed me before.”

“This is prejudice.”

“It certainly is not if it is sustained by facts.”

An unfamiliar urge to punch him boiling inside her narrowed her green eyes, but Elizabeth took a deep breath, reminding herself where she was.

“You haven’t answered my question,” he insisted. “It’s very rude to not do so.”

Tilting her chin up, her eyes abandoned the verses and she pronounced with purpose her next words, “People say gingers are untrustworthy and just a glimpse of one could bring bad luck... You’re a ginger. Should I assume my day shall be ruined now?”

Superstition or not, you already spoiled my day, she thought but kept that opinion to herself.

Sean grimaced. Growing up as the only redhead amongst his four brothers and one of the few in the village provided his share of hurtful words over the years.

“This is not... Those are superstitions from provincial minds!” he snapped but didn’t storm out in an unexpected turn of events.

They fell silent, and she closed the book, considering if she should leave. Meanwhile his hazel eyes took her in, lingering on the small mounds that have grown three summers ago. The tip of his index finger touched the cover of the book and he glanced at the title.

“Perhaps you should sit over there and read for me. To prove my assumption is wrong.”

“Why would I be willing to prove anything to you, Mr. Dunne?” Her question answered with a snorted laugh, and he inched closer. The urge to flee grew inside her, and she clutched at the book, nails digging into the leather.

At all costs, Elizabeth avoids being alone with members of the opposite sex, just like her mother warned her. Life’s already too hard as it is, and she’s seen more than thrice what happens with girls like her who trusted the vain promises of lads, especially the ones with riches. Once their desires are satisfied, the girls are left with their crosses to bear, carrying the symbol of their sins on their arms and all the judgement upon their shoulders.

His arm raised, and his hand darted upwards, close to her head and she flinched.

Pulling a book from the shelf, he smiled to himself. “I saw you at Wincrest Stream yesterday,” he said skimming at a random page, although his eyes kept coming back to her face and cleavage. “You weren’t bathing with the others.”

“I didn’t feel like it.”

Three years ago, Elizabeth stopped bathing there, warned by her mother about the boys spying on her, even though she loved to submerge in its cold crystal-clear waters during summertime.

“Can’t you swim?”

“Why are you suddenly interested in what I can or cannot do?”

“Shouldn’t you just be pleased someone like yourself picked the interest of someone like myself?”

“That depends on the reasons,” she retorted, her mind filled with memories of all the vicious names he called Briar and herself over the years, and their happiness when he joined his brothers at the military academy, spending months away from the village.

The young man stepped forward and his fingers touched the skin of her arm.

She backed away and glared. “Do not touch me again,” she hissed, clutched the book tight to her chest, and rapidly walked out of the room.

“Why are you leaving?” he cried, and she heard his laughter while her feet took her running down the stairs, heartbeat accelerating with each step. She shall not stand and wait for misfortune to catch up to her.

A few days later

Huffing, Elizabeth paced faster and faster. Her brown dirty boots stomped and squashed the tall grass, while taking her further away from Wincrest Stream. Both hands tight around the maroon covered book, pressing it against her chest.

Crossing the field peppered with yellow buttercup flowers, Briar, with the hem of her dress pulled up, was almost running to catch up with her.

“You shall never marry if you don’t allow anyone to come closer to you, Lizzy,” Briar’s nasal voice ringed behind her and caused her to stop.

Similar statements left her friend’s tongue before. Marriage is a subject whose relevance grows with each passing year and becomes a life-changing decision for girls like them. A chance to remedy their unfortunate birth, as some say; quickly followed by the advice to take advantage of their good-looks and youth, while they can.

“Tell me, if you may, one – just one – name of a young man amongst those that is in fact looking for a wife here.”

The inquiry knitted together the other’s black brows, and the brunette pursed her lips in contemplation of an answer.

“Alright,” she finally admitted, “perhaps none of those are.” A grin, however, parted Briar’s lips when she looked over her shoulders and added, “But they are quite handsome blokes. You must admit it. And haven’t you noticed? Sean Dunne has taken a liking to you.”

Elizabeth snorted at the name, and Briar’s eyebrows and hands raised at her.

“What is wrong with him? He is no longer that spoiled brat.”

“He’s the same, Briar. Just taller.”

“He seems different… Of course, he is not as handsome as his brother Francis…” she teased.

Elizabeth’s cheeks painted itself in a darker shade of red, while she stumbled on the words to refute the insinuation.

“Alright,” Briar acquiesced, with a smirk. “But Sean is a fine lad from a good family, lives in that palace, and whose mother likes you and enjoys your company.”

“It is clear there’s only one thing he wants from me,” Elizabeth said, and they shared a knowing look, both aware of Mary’s warnings about the ruses those lads use to seduce poor lasses like the pair.

Briar pursed her lips, and uphill they meandered the path surrounded by tall asters, whose yellow centres were visited by buzzing bees.

Skin still cold from the stream’s water, Briar’s arm encircled her friends’ and she hummed a familiar tune. Elizabeth couldn’t help but join her. Soon they were singing at the top of their lungs.

When they finally reached the top, Briar sighed and casted a wistful glance behind. “Sean’s friend was tall and handsome... Have you seen his hair? So dark and shiny!”

Looking her squarely in the eye, Elizabeth frowned but didn’t say a word.

“I know the reason lads from good families like those come after girls like us... but... sometimes I wish this one could be different…”

“I know,” Elizabeth sighed, and lowered her gaze and her hands. Pulling the hem of her dress up, mimicking her friend, they both jumped a fence and reached the orchard.

Elizabeth sat down beneath a tree, resting her back against the trunk, and opened the book, while Briar leaned against another tree.

“What are you reading?”

“A Greek tragedy. Would you care if I read it to you?”

“Oh! A tragedy? Never! Life is already too tragic!” Briar snickered at her own banter. “But you can carry on… I mean, if that is how you want to enjoy your day of rest.”

“Just a bit,” she replied softly, “We have plenty of time before sunset.”

In silence, they both occupied themselves. Elizabeth’s attention returned to the book, and Briar combed her long damp hair with her fingers, before taking a seat beside her friend. Braiding her own hair, she peeked at the pages.

“You are lovely and intelligent,” Briar started, speaking softly, and her friend stopped reading and looked at her. “A rich lad like Sean Dunne or any other being enamoured with you… it is not an impossible thing to happen, Lizzy. And if you married, nobody would mistake you for the maid.”

“Oh, Briar! Empty pockets make us equals...” Elizabeth tried to remedy the unhappiness glistening her friend’s eyes, even though this statement was untrue. Poverty was something both the Thompsons and the Dalys had in common. For years, however, Elizabeth was aware of the unjust society they both lived in and how the Daly’s dark skin and heritage was frown upon by many of the townsfolks.

Shrugging her concern, the brunette assured she was fine.  

“You are beautiful, my friend. Next year you shall be crowned the Harvest Queen. You shall see it!” Elizabeth said softly and the other beamed. Amusement lighting her face.

“Even if I don’t, at least I will beat you in every game!”

Sticking her tongue out, Elizabeth replied the teasing, “You wish!”

They took turns bragging about their abilities in each game and they laughed together. Even though, with her mother’s illness, Elizabeth barely had time to play games anymore and if not for Mrs. Daly being at the cottage with her mother, she would not be outside enjoying the sunny day.

“I missed this…” Elizabeth said softly, leaning her head on her friend’s shoulder, and Briar glanced at her, and in a low tone assured her mother would get better soon.

After a few moments, Elizabeth shook her head and wiped a tear streaming down her face. Standing up and raising one arm, she suggested they should weave their own flower crowns and proclaim themselves the queens of those meadows. Reigning over bees and foxes.

Briar grinned and teased her friend’s silliness, but soon they were both plucking twigs and wildflowers. While their hands worked, their tongues chatted.

Contemplating her friend’s face for a moment, tip of the tongue sticking out in concentration, Briar mused, “If we’re queens, there is an issue that must be addressed immediately, Your Majesty.” When the other’s gaze raised, a confirmation she was paying attention, she continued, “Who shall be our kings?”

Elizabeth shook her head slowly. “Don’t you ever stop thinking about romance?”

“Never,” Briar laughed, her shoulders shaking with mirth. “And I cannot believe you do not think about it too! With all those novels you read and the sparkles in your eyes…”

“I have no time for that,” she snorted.

“Nonsense! There is always time for love!” Briar nudged her side. “Unless you are waiting for a dashing prince like the ones from the fairy-tales to come to Grovershire and whisk you away to live at his palace?”

“That’s a preposterous idea! Why would a prince even come here in the first place?”

“Obviously because of you, Lizzy!” Briar said with a playful smile and placed the flower crown on the top of her head. “But we might have to start a rumour that you are a princess, trapped by a witch in a tower with an enormous treasure, chests filled with gold and jewels... Waiting for your saviour. And a kiss!”

“Who would even believe that?”

“Men! They are silly and would take any opportunity to rescue a damsel in distress. You shall see.”

“You’re the silly one...” Elizabeth shook her head.

Smiling mischievously, Briar jumped to her feet and pulled her friend up. Kneeling, the brunette clasped the other’s hands and dramatically declared undying love, shouting to the wind, while the other tried to shush her. Unable to keep a serious face, the laugh leaked from Elizabeth’s lips and the infectious sound was accompanied by her friend’s chortles. Their expressions of joy echoing in the fields like birdsongs.

Hand over her stomach, Briar doubled over with laughter; and Elizabeth touched her shoulder, gasping for air.

When the giggles subsided, Elizabeth wiped the tears streaming down her face, and sat down. Looking at her, Briar asked softly, “Aren’t you afraid of growing into an old maid?”

“I can think of worst things to happen to me,” Elizabeth shrugged.

“I myself consider this to be a tragedy!”

Briar spun with arms wide open, skirts swirling and head falling back. The sight brought a smile to Elizabeth’s face.

“I desire to fall in love with a handsome man!” she recited hugging herself, with a coquettish smile, “A man with gentle manners and strong arms! One who would kiss me until I lose my breath.”

Elizabeth gasped at the bold words.

“Don’t give me that scandalized look, Lizzy!” the brunette said, winking at her. “You’ve read so many novels, you don’t expect me to believe you don’t think about it too!”

Elizabeth’s cheeks turned redder, however a smile curled her lips and her friend approached.

“I long to feel the kind of love I read in books someday,” Elizabeth confessed, chin propped in one hand.

“I knew it!” Briar pointed at her, a victorious grin on her lips. “Thus, you do think about getting married one day!”

“Perhaps... Now I don’t have the time nor am willing to worry about that. Mama requires my assistance, and I must work and support both of us… Besides if I ever do marry, it shall be on my terms.”

“Certainly!”

“…With a kind man whose eyes are gentle and with whom I can talk and –”

“What about his looks?” Briar interrupted. “He must be handsome!”

“Not necessarily!”

“Will you be willing to kiss a toothless mouth?” Briar made a face. “Or give birth to his ugly children?”

“I admit it, a hardworking man easy on the eye would be better… But the most important is that our home is filled with joy and he shall be my best friend.”

“And rich!”

“He does not have to be rich...”

“A man with a fortune could take care of you and your mother. Life would be much easier,” Briar rakes the callous on her own hands and looks at her friend. “You wouldn’t have to work this much. You could eat all the sweets you wanted!”

“That’s more appealing to you!” Elizabeth giggled, while the other continued to enumerate what money could provide, “… And wear the most beautiful dresses with the finest fabrics from Mrs. O’Malley’s shop. And even from London! Read! Travel!”

“It all sounds marvellous, indeed. But without a dowry, that is an impossible dream...”

“Dreams come true at times. All you need is a fairy godmother.”

Grinning, Elizabeth asked, “Are you volunteering?”

“Who knows…”

Edgewater – March, 1816

Sighing, Elizabeth’s free hand twitched once again with the wide brim of the fancy bonnet that complimented her new dress. At the same time, the elegant item protects her face from sunlight – though that never concerned a girl used to run free at the fields outside Grovershire regardless of the weather – and reduces her peripheral vision, making it impossible to cast a discreet sidelong glance.

How does a lady engage in a conversation without seeing the face of the person besides her? This is ridiculous!

Risking behaving improperly, she turned her head to have a clear view from the man's serious face.

Judging by his expression, Edgewater just taught her first lesson: a request from the Dowager Countess is indeclinable. Not even this gentleman could refuse taking Elizabeth to stroll in a garden that is not his own.

When the pair looked at her expectantly, Elizabeth, who had just met her grandmother, could only ponder if denying this request would not only be considered rude but affect her relationship with the woman. Therefore, it seemed appropriate to just say yes, and that she did. Now they were strolling, her hand placed on the crook of the arm of a stranger who seemed utterly displeased by her company.

Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth tried to engage in a conversation with her companion, in order to get to know the man as her grandmother intended, yet all she received were curt responses to every one of her questions.

“You are a man of few words, Mr. Sinclaire.”

“I find idle conversation to be a waste of time,” the man replied, explaining why he would rather not spend his valuable time on remarks about the weather or gossip.

Raising her eyebrows, Elizabeth spoke again meeting his gaze, “Have you ever considered ‘idle conversation’ at least passes the time? I find it much more enjoyable than passing unwanted time together in silence.”

“Is that what this is? Undesirable conversation?” the man asked, his voice tinged by indignation.

“I would never say such a thing, sir!” Elizabeth replied, lowering her gaze and biting back a snicker, under the covering of her bonnet. “Perhaps you feel that way about the situation, since, you’re the one who called this idle conversation in the first place. I would hate to waste your time…”

“Hmph, you give your mind rather freely.”

“Mama taught me honesty is a virtue.”

“Is there not an opinion you would deign inappropriate to speak aloud?”

“Plenty,” she replied, considering every occasion she held her tongue and uttered the polite answer instead. “However, would it not be impolite to leave your question unanswered?”

Mr. Sinclaire stopped, casting a quizzical look. While he studied her, Elizabeth pursed her lips, fighting the urge to giggle at his reaction, and pondering if perhaps her teasing had gone too far.

“I honestly don’t know what to make of you, Miss Thompson.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“I’ve not yet decided. You’re clearly different than the other women I have encountered at Edgewater.”

Different. Is this a euphemism?

She averted his gaze and shook her head. Obviously, her low birth and lack of refinement could not be hidden beneath fine clothes. The words the Dowager Countess whispered to describe him – “eligible bachelor” and “wealthiest landowner around” – ringed in her mind and contrasted with the ones Mr. Sinclaire used to refer to herself: “the Earl’s natural daughter”. That is how I will be known as, isn’t it? Always reminded of my status as an illegitimate daughter.

“Let me take a gander,” she said meeting his gaze, “I’m different because of my low birth.”

“Your background has nothing to do with it…”

“If that’s the case, you could have fooled me. That was one of the first things you remarked upon! And I cannot say I received the impression you were pleased to meet me, much less spend more time with.”

A scowl contorted Mr. Sinclaire’s face, and he returned his focus to the path ahead. Once more, silence fell upon their promenade.

Elizabeth pondered about the man beside her, and so far, her impressions about their previous hasty and ill-mannered meeting remained. Recognizing her as someone unworthy of his time and courtesy was probably the reason why Mr. Sinclaire would not stop and apologise after almost trampling her.

“Why ever did you agree with the dowager’s request in the first place?” Elizabeth dared ask, tired of his muteness, looking him squarely in the eyes. “You don’t seem all that fond of my company…”

His blue eyes met her stare. Then he sighed and his expression softened.

“Forgive me if it came across that way… but don’t presume to know my mind,” he said in a low voice.

Elizabeth nodded and decided to drop the subject at once, not wishing to taint her first visit to these magnificent gardens with this quarrel with Mr. Sinclaire. Why would she even mind his opinions about herself?

Walking past some bushes, Mr. Sinclaire lead the way and they found themselves before a lake. Sitting on the bench to admire the sight, Elizabeth couldn’t hold her contentment and for the first time, Mr. Sinclaire smiled, speaking about the times spent with his grandmother walking that same path and enjoying that same view.

A moment later, however, his expression changed once more. Reminiscing about the absent one, the smile was erased from his lips.

Elizabeth recognized something familiar. Before he looked away following a pair of ducks gliding on the quiet surface of the water, she spotted the pain in his eyes, and shared a story about her mother, and how she cherishes every memory.

“I suppose the absence of the ones we love shall persist…” she said quietly.

“Yes, I suppose it shall. The memories never fade completely. Nor the pain,” he lowered his voice and gaze to his hands, “I am sorry for your loss.”

She thanked him and they stared at the ducks quacking.

Suddenly, her mother’s words about first impressions returned to her mind, and she glanced at him. Perhaps, she had been too hasty in her judgement.

Taking a deep breath, she decided upon trying again. Perhaps, they both could use a friend. On their way back to the manor they talked about the gardens and his grandmother.

When they reached the imposing entrance, a shiver ran down Elizabeth’s spine.

“You know my father, do you not?” she asked, and he confirmed. “May I ask you which are your impressions of him?” Though her voice sounded steady, the wriggling hands betrayed her, and the man noticed it.

“The Earl, he is a good man,” he replied with a small smile, “and he is pleased with the idea of meeting you.”

A wide smile curled her lips, and she thanked him for his answer, and noticed a distinct glint in his blue eyes.

---------------------------

Notes:

1. The extract Elizabeth reads is from Oedipus King of Thebes by Sophocles.

[safetyphoto]

Colorized Photos That Show the Interior of the Moorfield House in Lancashire in 1947 https://ift.tt/2C3QQiX