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Extended Work
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| The Gloaming - Chapter One | |
| By Mandi_Gayle | ||||
| 21 May 2006 | ||||
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This is merely for my own fun, but perhaps you might all enjoy it as well. It is a work in progress. The piece takes place in England, within the 1800s. I am posting it to this community for what I hope will be constructive opinions, and helpful tips for me to grow as an author. I would love to know what is thought of this. I ask you to please ignore any spelling mistakes I may have made, or grammatical errors. I have yet to go over it with a fine-toothed comb, nor have I sent it to my editor. The Gloaming Chapter One The air was thick with honeysuckle; it hung heavily in the cool crepuscle. The sun had rapidly lost its battle with the moon, and the light had soon conceded to the darkness. The night was silent, and the ground sparkled in the moonlight from the evening’s rain. Lydia drew her shawl tighter around her, shivering slightly; although whether it was from the chill of the night or rather that in her own heart, she could not say. She felt certain that it was a question better left unanswered. “A lovely night, wouldn’t you say, Miss Barrette?” Lydia turned her head sharply at the sudden deep baritone voice. She had thought herself alone, and had not heard anyone approaching. She reproached herself for her lack of alertness, and forced a small smile; one she knew had not reached her eyes. “To the common eye, yes, Colonel Beckley. Further than that I think it to be quite contrarious.” “Forgive me, Miss Barrette,” Colonel Beckley replied, bowing slightly. “I did not wish to express disregard of any kind for your present situation-” “Think nothing of it, Colonel,” Lydia said quickly, cutting off whatever he had next intended to say. She felt sure she would not profit from whatever it might have been. “It is I that should be asking your forgiveness for my bitterness.” Unable to bear the compassion and understanding she found in his obsidian eyes, she looked instead on the moon, a shining silver orb in the melanised sky. Her hidden despair was beginning to take its toll on her, and she felt her body weakening every second. She found herself highly tempted to set propriety and strength to naught, and simply fall apart and weep until she had no more tears left to cry. “Miss Barrette, I wish to express my strongest sympathies to you and your family. Dear Mrs. Barrette shall be greatly missed in Gavenly. If there is ever anything I could do, all you need do is ask, and I should be more than glad to make your service.” “Thank you, Colonel Beckley. My family and I appreciate your kindness. However, I dare say that you have done more than enough for us, and we could never even begin to endeavour to repay you. As such, we shall gratefully remain in your debt.” “You are in no debt with me, Miss Barrette. I have rather formed quite the fond attachment with your family. I trust that you might find comfort in the knowledge that your mother went peacefully. She was not in pain, and I consider myself certain of the fact that she was quite contented.” Lydia allowed herself a true smile, albeit a small one. She had to admit, if only to herself, that Colonel Beckley had a certain charm, one that could undoubtedly win the hearts of many, and pardon him from nearly any unwanted situation. She would even be so bold as to wager he could charm his way out of the hands of enemies on the battlefield, and wondered briefly if he had survived war for that very reason. She allowed herself the indulgence of taking in his appearance. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders that spoke of strength and hardships. He was lean and no doubt muscular, though his concealing garments left much to the imagination. An older gentleman, she would guess him to be in his early forties, though by no means was he past his prime. A rather handsome man, too, with dark hair, and eyes even darker than that. His appearance spoke of mysteries and hidden tales, maturity and an understanding of the ways of the world; an unspoken knowledge that one only received upon the losing of naivety and the gaining of wisdom in the cruellest of ways. The blackness of his eyes, like endless portals, held an underlying sense of loss. There was no doubt in Lydia’s mind that this was a man that had been dealt his fair share of misfortune, and she felt certain of the fact that no matter what she thought herself to be feeling in this moment with the loss of her mother, that Colonel Beckley had surely suffered far worse in his time. She was wrenched from her musings by the sound of approaching footsteps, and turned her attention toward the coming figure. “There you are, dear Miss Barrette. Mr. Delenger has requested your presence in the parlour. He wishes to go over the details of Mrs. Barrette’s will. As everyone is present and accounted for, he felt it would be better to proceed now, as opposed to trying to postpone.” “Of course, thank you Milly, I shall be there straight away.” The plump woman nodded, and made her way back up to the large estate, one which always brought Lydia so much warmth, but now offered nothing but coldness. The two things that had made it home were now both gone; her father first, three years prior, and now her mother. She hardly thought of it as home anymore, though knew it always would be. “Well, I think I shall retire for the evening, Miss Barrette. I plan on getting an early start in the morning.” This information came as something of a shock to Lydia. She hadn’t thought Colonel Beckley would be leaving so soon, but on the other hand, she had no reason to expect him to linger. “You’re leaving in the morning? I was not aware.” “Nor was I until this afternoon. I had planned to tread upon your hospitality for a few more days, but I received a letter from Kayton Hill. It seems that my Aunt has fallen ill, and my presence has been requested at home. You see, she dwells within a small house on my estate at Jonden Ridge. She has been in rather poor health as of late; I do not expect her to be with us much longer.” “Oh, I am sorry, Colonel Beckley. If there is anything I can do I hope you shall let me know. It would be the least I could do, you’ve done so much for us.” Colonel Beckley shook his head, and turned his attention to the night sky. “I’ve done nothing significant, Miss Barrette. You’re mother was quite dear to many, myself included. It was an honour to be present in her last moments. And besides, I dare say you’ve enough to be getting on with at the moment.” Lydia said nothing, only nodded her head. “Speaking of which, I had better go to the parlour and get this ordeal over with. I shall see you in the morning, Colonel.” Colonel Beckley bowed. “Goodnight, Miss Barrette.” Lydia watched the man walk up the lawn toward the guest quarters, before making the journey to the parlour. It was sure to be a long evening. “Lydia! About time you were joining us! I fear we quite tired of waiting for you and made to proceed without you. You’ve not missed much, of course, as there wasn’t that much to go over. I believe we just about have everything in order.” Lydia nodded at her sister. “Very well, Victoria. Let us finish the matter then, I should very much like to find my bed for the night. It has been quite a tiring day.” Lydia ignored the disapproving look in her sister’s youthful eyes. While they looked similar in their features, their personalities were stark contrasts in comparison. The main difference being that Victoria tended to wear her heart on her sleeve, while Lydia preferred to keep her own safely locked within its confines. This characteristic often landed her the title of being cold, and her sister was perhaps the one to tell her so most often. Victoria was a delightful young woman, both aesthetically pleasing in her appearance as well as personality. She was of average height, and very slender with gentle curves. Her hair was dark auburn, and her eyes were sparkling green. She possessed rosy cheeks and a brilliant smile, and her voice was always gentle. She would often be seen wither with her nose in a book, or her fingers busy playing her harp. She had such a grace and beauty about her that led people to believe her much older than her true age. Victoria was but seven and ten years old, but could easily be mistaken for two and twenty. Her lengthy hair fell in loose curls down her back, and her eyes always held whatever emotion she was feeling at that present time. She was much like an open book, and Lydia did not always consider it such a good thing. She differed greatly from her sister in that respect, as her eyes rarely held the tiniest sliver of emotion. While people called her cold, she merely thought herself to be guarded, and would have it no other way. She was a lady of propriety, and regarded the incessant showing of one’s emotions to be quite improper. They differed greatly in their tastes as well. While Victoria loved romance novels and heroic tales, Lydia much preferred the works of writers such as Shakespeare. Sorrowful poetry and mournful tales were amongst her favourite things to read. She longed to be a published author herself, though very few knew of any such aspiration. She strongly wished to keep it that way. She knew it was an unlikely feat for her to manage, and had rather keep her unattainable, foolish notions to herself. The evening wore on longer than Lydia had wished, but they had finally closed the matters at hand, and everything had been settled. It was determined that everything had been left to both Lydia and Victoria, as they were their mother’s only remaining relatives. It was really a blessing that they managed to be able to keep the estate. Their father had settled everything before he had died. It was a pity that Lydia wished not to have it. It truly was a lovely estate, and her childhood home. It was full of wonderful memories, though now tarnished by death and loss. She felt trapped within its vast walls, like she were in some prison of despair. “Lydia? Are you quite alright?” Lydia was shaken from her musings by her sister’s voice. “Oh, yes; yes, I’m fine, Victoria.” Victoria eyed her sceptically. “Are you certain, Lydia? You’ve hardly said two words to me since everyone’s departure.” Lydia sat her now empty teacup back down onto the table, and raised an elegant eyebrow at her sister. “You’ll forgive me if I do not feel highly conversational tonight, Victoria. I should think it obvious why I should choose to remain silent.” “Of course, though it does not do to keep everything inside always, Lydia. I have not seen you shed a single tear, and we’ve lost our mother! Surely you must be grieving!” “One does not always have to be wracked with sobs to be grieving, Victoria. I do hope you are not insinuating that I did not love mother enough to deny her passing the awarding of my deepest regret, for I assure you, I can quite feel the pain. I am not so callous as to be able to lose my own mother and not lament her.” Victoria sighed, and did not meet her sister’s eyes. “I did not mean to imply such at all, Lydia. I just do not see how you could not weep over her. She should have had many years left; the fever took her much too early.” Lydia stared into her empty cup. She could not bear to watch her sister cry. “She did not leave us early, Victoria. It was meant to be, and so it was. We must accept that. Mother is gone, yes, but we must move on with life. It does not do to dwell on the less than satisfactory things that we are dealt. It does, however, pay to dwell on the good. If one looks only at what they do not have, then they possess nothing; but if one looks only at what they do have, then they possess everything.” Victoria wiped her eyes with her napkin and shook her head. “I do not understand you at times, Lydia. But no matter, I must ask, what is it you were discussing at such great length with Colonel Beckley tonight?” Lydia took a moment to adjust to the sudden switch of topic, and cleared her throat gently. “Nothing of significance, I assure you. He informed me that his Aunt has fallen ill, and he must away in the morning for Jonden Ridge.” “How unfortunate, I do hope she will fair well.” “I do not believe it is expected of her.” “Poor Colonel. Is he very close with her?” “I cannot tell you, Victoria. He did not say as much, though one can presume he affords her some attachment, as she is staying in a small house on his estate.” “You know, I rather think Colonel Beckley has taken quite the fancy to you,” Victoria said, a knowing twinkle in her green eyes. “We are friends,” Lydia replied, and her voice held no emotion. “Well, I daresay he wishes to be a great deal more than ‘friends’ from what I gather.” “Well what you gather, Victoria is merely suspicion and the imagination produced from your overactive romanticisms. I assure you that the Colonel feels only friendship for me, nothing more, nor I for him; so I suggest that you put your quixotic notions to rest. Colonel Beckley is nearly twice my age, and would never want for someone so young as I.” “Do not speak so quickly, Lydia, for I believe quite differently. Love knows no age, and Colonel Beckley is far from infirmity, and probably only five and ten years to your senior. You are soon to be six and twenty years, I doubt the Colonel to be any more than five and forty, and probably less than that. I believe he would be a good match for you.” “Nonsense, Victoria. Colonel Beckley would no more think of me than he would you. And besides that, what makes you think I would even think of him? You do not know my tastes so well, as you said before, you do not understand me.” “Perhaps at times I do not understand you, but I do know what qualities you possess, Lydia, and Colonel Beckley possess many of the same.” “Qualities alone do not make a match. There are more things to it than that.” “As I am well aware, thank you. You cannot tell me that you hold no feeling for him, it would surely be a lie if you did.” Lydia met her sister’s eye, and merely shrugged her shoulders. “I do not deny that I hold feelings of friendship for him, he is among the best of men. But in other respects, you must not believe.” “Very well, I can see you are not willing to offer me any details tonight, and I do not feel up to begging,” Victoria said with a smile. “I think I shall call it a night, we must get up early to see off our guests.” Lydia agreed, and stood gingerly, blowing out the flickering candle on the table. She felt the need to inform her sister of her plans to leave the dwelling of Rockwell, but thought better of it for tonight. She would inform her tomorrow, when all of their gusts had gone. She was certain to take the news poorly. Climbing the stairs up to her room, Lydia allowed her mind to wander to Colonel Beckley. Had her sister been correct in her wild assumption that the man could possibly hold greater feelings than friendship for her? She highly doubted it, but couldn’t help the flutter in her heart at the prospect. She was being foolish, feeling such flutters, as Colonel Beckley would no more think of her in that regard as she would him. She was not one to linger on romantic nonsense, and silently cursed her sister for putting such notions into her head. Her reproach on herself however did not keep her from wishing that Colonel Beckley did not have to depart tomorrow. She had rather enjoyed his company at Rockwell, and was loath to see him go. She refused to allow herself to believe that it was out of any feeling of attachment that she loathed this; it was strictly friendship. Nothing else. Sighing, she settled deep beneath her covers, not entirely convinced of the matter, but refusing to examine her feelings any closer for fear of what she might find.
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