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Posted on December 11th, 2008 @ 6:58pm
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Who: Richard and Jane Flyte, Algernon Beauchamp
Where: Kay Hall
When: Thursday Dec 11
What: Tea! Or something. Old friends getting reacquainted.
( He hadn't seen Beauchamp in a while. )
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Posted on December 7th, 2008 @ 1:14pm
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who: Richard and Jane Flyte
what: preparing for the return journey to Ashe Cross from London
when: Sunday morning, 7 December
( She was ready to go home. )
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Posted on December 1st, 2008 @ 11:40pm
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Who: Miss Charlotte Burney, Reverend Mister Waltham
Where: On the way home from visiting old Mrs. Steele
What: On good deeds.
Henry had mentioned to Miss Burney yesterday after service that the Widow Steele was ill and that he was planning on visiting her the next day, to bring her some soup that Mrs. Brown had made as well as some heavy clothes for the winter and to make certain she was well stocked with firewood and other essentials. Mrs. Steele was the wife of the former Grocer in town and, upon his death, the childless woman found herself living on a very small pension in a small home on the outskirts of town. She was too elderly to come to service often, and had the misfortune of being rather irritable in temperament, but that did not stop him from visiting her weekly to check on her, to discuss the Reading of the week with her, and to pray with her while she prepared for her death.
She had been preparing for her death the entire three years he had been in residence and it did not as of yet seem imminent. It was a nice change to have Miss Burney with him, and as they left the house, secure in the knowledge that the old matron would survive another week, he turned to help her over the stile, his hand taking her gloved one gently.
"You were quite kind to accompany me, Miss Burney. I do think you are a favorite of hers."
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Posted on November 30th, 2008 @ 5:43pm
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who: Algernon Beauchamp and Anne Baker
when: early afternoon, Sunday 30 November
what: Algernon comes to call on the eldest Baker sister
( ...he seriously debated turning back... )
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Posted on November 23rd, 2008 @ 5:50pm
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Who: Miss Margaret Burney, Captain Lionel Wayland
When: November 23rd, 1814
What: A chance encounter.
Sunday- even a rare clear and sunny autumn Sunday, unseasonably warm and with a brisk breeze ruffling the meadows surrounding the village of Ashe Cross- was, of course, the Lord's Day; and Miss Margaret Burney had dutifully spent the morning attending to the sermon of Mr. Waltham and praying with the earnest energy that she brought to most pursuits. Even the Lord, however, could object to an afternoon spent taking advantage of the fine weather, of that Meg was sure, and so she'd slipped out after tea for her daily ramble, intending to spend more time at it than had been her wont of late what with the rain and the chill. And just in case God preferred industry to contemplation, the girl decided after some deliberation to bring her sketching book and her pencils with her.
And so it was that the late afternoon found her some distance from the village proper, seated carelessly in the grass (having forgotten, as could only be expected, to bring with her a chair or cushion or any sort of proper seat; her clothing was rather more used than not to such treatment,) with her things spread in her lap, hard at work on a depiction of a rather picturesque stand of trees in the near distance. Such was her focus that the Lord himself would have had his work cut out to rouse her without resorting to stepping into her light.
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Posted on November 23rd, 2008 @ 4:13pm
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Who: Cassandra Beauchamp and anyone/everyone who was invited to the Beauchamp's dinner party (feel free to respond either to Cassandra or to create sub-threads with other characters)
When: 21 November 1814
What: A party is a party, but a party on a November eve...
The party had so far been just perfect, if Cassandra did say so herself. The dinner had been excellent, the conversation had flowed easily, and everyone appeared to be having a wonderful time. Cassandra had been surprised that morning to find that she knots in her stomach. But thankfully, her worrying had been for naught.
The dinner had been eaten, and the women had gone to the drawing room, and Cassandra found herself surveying all of the eligible women in the neighbourhood. They all seemed very nice, as far as Cassandra could tell, and some of them were very pretty, too. Surely Algernon would like one of them, right? But at the moment, she pushed those thoughts from her mind. What she really wanted right now was a friend.
"Do you play the piano-forte?" she asked, turning to the girl who was sitting next to her. A conversation would be a good start.
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Posted on November 17th, 2008 @ 7:00pm
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Who: Miss Anne Baker, Mr. Algernon Beauchamp, Esq.
Where: The road back from Miss Baker's former residence in the direction of the village.
What: Miss Baker runs into her new neighbour. Possibly she also runs into someone else? Any other takers? (Public)
Anne had spent a most dissatisfying morning attempting to make a pudding for dinner. It had turned out wretchedly and she had ended up with flour on her favorite pinny and had used far too many eggs so that she would likely do without at breakfast for a week. The results were yet to be determined, for it was steaming over the fire in the kitchen of their small home under the eye of their servant.
To cheer herself or perhaps to make herself more regretful and solemn, she had gone for a ramble through the countryside, up past their former home. Sometimes she liked to come and sit in the familiar landscape. Sketching the line of the roof, the play of the shadows from the overhanging trees. It was cool today, and she did not tarry overlong. Unfortunately, it was long enough to spy the new denizens of the home departing in what had once been the family carriage. At least her horse had been sold to someone from out of the neighbourhood. She wasn't certain she could bear to see him ridden by another.
The walk back did little to warm her. It was a sad fact that she missed riding madly, and the pursuits of a gentlewoman in a poor financial state were different than those of old. Still, it was better to think such things on her own, out of sight of her sister and any others who might remark on the slight frown cast on her features. To dwell on them overmuch did no one any good, but sometimes, she gave herself the luxury of a few moments to lament their losses, both material and in the person of their father.
While walking, she did not note the dip in the road from the recent rains, and she stumbled a bit, breaking the lace on her shoe and causing her to pause to fix it with the help of a nearby post, which she used for support.
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Posted on November 14th, 2008 @ 8:46pm
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Who: The Reverend Mr. Henry Waltham, Miss Burney, and Miss Meg Burney
When: November 14, 1814
What: Dinner at the Burneys!
A great deal of Miss Burney's morning had been spent by the window, staring into the endless rain. The torrents that poured down over the modest lawn didn't cease for a midday meal or when tea was served. On most days, Charlotte's intense study of the weather encouraged her thoughts to turn to slightly less practical things, thoughts of abstracts. She contemplated what life would be like in Town, perhaps London, with more bosom companions than thought possible, or whether the Almighty prefers a girl to say what's on her mind or hold it all in and save face despite her silence being a lie. Does God suffer liars or fools more? These sorts of meandering thoughts often crossed her mind, but today none held court in the mind of Miss Burney.
Instead, she worried that the roads would be too muddy for Reverend Mr Waltham to join their dinner party. Sitting against the window, she worried her lip for some time. A book sat forgotten in her lap. Charlotte so anticipated this evening in a way she hardly comprehended. There were many dinners she'd attended in the past months that she could hardly keep count, and she and her sister had hosted a fair number of them, but somehow she felt differently about this evening. Mr Waltham was one of the small number of Ashe Cross residents she enjoyed conversing with for a prolonged period of time. Over the two years since Mr Foxwell passed away, she'd spent so much time with Mr Waltham, their interactions had slowly morphed from that of a pastor and parish to two friends. She enjoyed the hours in his parlour more than anything she could recollect.
Finally, with the grace of God, the storm subsided just after tea, and with brushing sunlight, the mud roads hardened to a traveller's dream. Casting herself away from the window, she nearly skipped to the kitchen to see how preparations for dinner were coming along, then to find her younger sister to revel in their luck at having a fine visitor come for dinner.
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Posted on November 7th, 2008 @ 8:45pm
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Who: The Beauchamp siblings
When: November 7, 1814
What: Brother-and-sisterly chatting!
Dinner had just completed, but the evening had just begun. An evening that was likely to be a long one for Cassandra. She was alone in the drawing room, waiting for her brother. It seemed silly to her to stand on such ceremony when it was just the two of them, but it was proper, and Cassandra didn't dare suggest to Algernon that they forego it when they were alone - not quite yet, that is. Perhaps by and by she would work up the courage.
She also needed to work up the courage to ask her older brother to go out more. He had made new acquaintances - many of the men of the neighbourhood had come to visit him, but of course Cassandra had not been there for those. And while she was sure her brother had returned some of the visits in kind, as was proper, they had not resulted in any further communication. But now that Cassandra was thinking on it, it would be quite nice to have a dinner party. After all, had not they come to Ashe Cross for a change of scene and society? The scene had changed, but so far Cassandra's society remained very dull indeed.
She sighed and looked down at the letter she was working on while she waited for Algernon. It was to her mother - she had promised to write frequently, and her first letter, detailing their safe arrival, had already been sent. But now she must write more. Except she had nothing to write about!
Yes, something must be done, Cassandra told herself. And she would talk to Algernon about it. She wouldn't tell him she was unhappy, of course. But it was her duty to remind him of what was proper, and a dinner party would be perfectly proper. And it would give her something to write to Mama about.
She was about to pick up her quill, now having a subject to write about, when she heard the door to the room open. She glanced over, happily dropping the quill as her brother entered. The letter could certainly wait.
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Posted on November 5th, 2008 @ 10:01pm
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Who: The Reverend Mr. Henry Waltham, Miss Burney
When: November 5, 1814
What: Tea at The Parsonage
No other time of the day was as pleasant to the Reverend Mr. Henry Waltham than mid afternoon. It was when the height of the day's sun had slipped past the zenith, bringing cool on a summer's day and in the autumn, like today, giving a gray haze to the environs around the parsonage that reminded one most pleasantly that winter was imminent. He had spent the better part of his time after luncheon working on his sermon and had also achieved some manner of success with the last of the roses that were being mulched in the back garden. This last activity he had to do most secretly, away from the keen gaze of the man of all work who tended the parsonage grounds. It would be most satisfactory when the roses bloomed, however, flush and lovely in the spring.
He was straightening up and dusting off his hands on a handkerchief when he heard the sound of Mrs. Brown searching for him.
"Mr. Waltham. Oh, Mr. Waltham, Miss Burney is here, I put her in the front parlor. Shall I serve a tea?" The older woman had a kind, if lined face, and was more than passably enthusiastic on any subject involving himself and the marriageable young ladies of the neighbourhood.
"Indeed," he said, reaching for his coat and pulling it on, before heading in to tidy himself before joining her. The eldest Miss Burney was as different from her sister as night and day, although he had assurances it wasn't always so. Over the past few years she had become a reliable fixture in his weeks, coming for tea, for conversation, for comfort in the grievous loss she had suffered. He suspected, personally, that part of the attraction of the parsonage was that it was away from the persons of her sister and father, but perhaps he was mistaken on that.
When he entered the front parlor, which was neat, if spare as always, he smiled at the young woman.
"Miss Burney. Hello. A pleasant day for your walk, I would think, was it not?"
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Posted on November 4th, 2008 @ 1:50pm
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Who: Frederick Lesley, Open
When: November 3rd, 1814
What: The not-so-prodigal son's return.
With no guests known to be arriving at either of the great houses, nor the inn, it was with no little interest that the townspeople of Ashe Cross regarded the unknown carriage that was quickly advancing upon the village green.
"Now what's all this?" exclaimed Mrs Rook, who was the draper's wife, her expression disapproving as the carriage crested the last hill and came into clear sight. "What a piece of frippery! It cannot possibly bear any reputable persons within."
But her son Adam, who was fourteen and a great enthusiast of cab-and-axle, was rather more impressed. "But that's 'un of the new type, Ma," he enthused, his eyes taking in the lavish garter-blue paint, the steel-sprung framework, and the four matched grays that pulled it. "It's real fast! I seen one in Tilburn this Monday last when I--"
"Monday? In Tilburn? When you told your father you'd gone to help at John Stenning's farm?" Mrs Rook demanded, her voice rising with each syllable. She pulled him by his ear and scolded him long and loudly, right there in the lane.
And so this was the sight that greeted Mr Frederick Lesley, he of the disreputable blue carriage, as he arrived in Ashe Cross proper after an absence of two years.
"By all bally hell, Fellowes, I believe the old place hasn't changed a jot," Frederick commented to his valet. "I shall think it an omen -- I believe that a woman had been pinching some poor lad's ears right here in this lane when I was here last. When I next return, whenever that may be, I fully expect to see the same delightful sight. It shall mark my comings and goings, much like a shooting star."
"The village high street does appear unaltered, sir," his man replied, with a taciturn expression. "Though I may point out that, there in the north-west corner now stands what appears to be a milliner's, where there had once been an empty yard."
Frederick peered out the window at the indicated spot just as the driver slowed the carriage. "Indeed you are right, Fellowes. I wonder that Arabella hasn't mentioned it -- or perhaps she has, and I have simply forgotten. How interesting to be returned!"
Fellowes nodded. "Indeed, sir."
The young gentleman continued to survey his surrounds, his smile indicating him to be in a state of resilient amusement, as if he found his being in Ashe Cross a sort of joke.
"Wait!" he exclaimed suddenly, knocking on the cab's ceiling to indicate a stop. "I believe here is something else, or rather someone, that also appears unchanged! Hello, there!"
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Posted on November 1st, 2008 @ 11:12am
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Who: Margaret Burney, Open
When: November 1st, 1814
What: Kicking this thing off with V&V's first thread. Open to whoever wants in.
As lovely as were the environs of Ashe Cross, Miss Margaret Burney did not in general choose to enjoy them alone. Sometimes, however, a solitary walk became necessary- such as when, despite the suggestions of all three that she take her daily ramble after a morning spent playing the pianoforte with a much greater degree of enthusiasm than skill, she could convince neither sister, nor father, nor brother to accompany her. The stubbornness of others was no reason, after all, to deny oneself the simple pleasure of a walk, and there could be no question of danger in a country town such as Ashe Cross, not that any such thought would have entered Meg's trusting little head in any case.
It was, however, a bit cool and damp for a ramble to be entirely enjoyable when there was no conversation to distract one, and so it was with a marked gathering of her shawl around her shoulders and something resembling a pout on her face that Meg turned her feet in the direction of the town proper- less picturesque than the open country side surrounding the town, perhaps, but a good deal more likely to be populated with her acquaintance.
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