Untitled (A novel) Chapter 1-3

A Story by pennyfrost

Untitled is romantic fiction piece about a member of the gentry in 1700's England named William Crosbie and an untitled kindle deliverer named Helen.

Chapter 1

When riding over a long distance a young gentleman must consider some unavoidabilities. These will include a riding suit drenched in sweat and a soreness caused by the saddle that will remain for a day or two. William James-Eugene Crosbie had somehow found himself in this predicament. It was late spring and the roads were especially sloppy. He was riding from Cambridge to London; a trip he vehemently despised.

William had only recently returned to his family's Manor in Cambridge, having completed his schooling. He had enjoyed school, though he constantly lamented that he was not there to enter into some noble profession. Instead he found himself being educated for the sake of an education and for no real useful purpose. Standing to inherit a large Manor house and title left him with no actual responsibilities than to distinguish himself as a gentleman of good breeding and capability in society. The job of a Lord seemed easy enough to him. From his memory his father only did two primary things: argue and complain of the tenants who rented his land, and promote himself and his family into society.

Williams father, Lord Walter Crosbie, was an avid hunter and marksman. He loved a good shoot, followed by cigars and brandy with his fellow Lords and Dukes afterwards. He enjoyed attending balls and parties with his wife, daughter, and son, not because he had any friendliness of character but because he enjoyed flaunting his wealth and status to others. The great approaching event for such strutting was to be William’s younger sister’s introduction into society as she was turning 16. The matter was quite a fuss and William, though devoted to his sister and her happiness, despised the superfluous and vain motives of his father.

It was for this reason that he offered to ride ahead to London and to begin to make the necessary connections in the social circles there, making way for when the rest of his family were to arrive. As much as he groaned at the thought of the social expectation he would endure, he was only too glad to find some escape from his Father’s house and his abrasive management of his business and family.

“You must have an iron fist, son,” his father had told them on their tour of the northern parts of the lands. William had just witnessed an eviction of a large family from one such parcel.

“But father, could you have not granted clemency after a dry season such as we have had? They offered to repay the debt within the next harvest!” William had protested, remembering the pleadings of the poor farmer and his wife.

“The Lord abhors a debtor,” Lord Crosbie said with disdain as he turned his horse away. “You are no longer a boy, William, it is time to begin acting with the status of your coming title,”

After only months back at home, William had already had enough of the company. Even his mother’s character waned in his eyes. Lady Crosbie refused to say or see any ill in her husband who seemed to degrade more and more in his sense of humility and empathy. When William would attempt to speak his heart to her she would wave him off, content to think of nothing but trivialities and nonsense. She loved her son, but Lady Crosbie had built for herself a world of possessions and comforts which blinded all evil from her.

William felt alone and friendless in his gifted situation. The one exception was his sister, who, though young, was bright and caring. She shared many of his frustrations but endured much less of the backlash from Father. William’s talks with her were one of the only escapes he could find. He left her that day with a faithful promise to write.

The journey was as tedious as ever and he sighed in relief as the sound of his horse's hoofs changed from a thudded dirt echo to a click clack of cobble stone streets. He had visited his aunt and uncle's home many times before and so he knew the way quite easily. The small chaise with his belongings would follow shortly after, though he had chosen the faster mode of horseback.

He entered into Covent Gardens, a very private community in London for the richly endowed. Just two streets away William had passed children with bare feet rushing up to his horse, hands held out needily. Workers bustled about and the people looked up at him enchanted as they did their everyday work in an effort to provide bread for themselves that night. William shook his head with amazement. He always felt amazed by the difference as he transitioned from the dirty streets of common London to the luxurious neighborhood where his aunt and uncle, and many of their social circles, lived. A servant immediately came to tend his horse as he dismounted. He approached the grand house almost hesitantly until the door swung open and a rounded gentleman came bounding towards him.

“Welcome nephew!” His uncle said with a jolly pat on the back, leading him into the house as a manservant rushed to grab his valise. It was a beautiful place, tastefully decorated with all the new fashions of the 18th century. The rugs were oriental, the chandeliers glistening crystal, and the home itself smelled of finery.

“We are so happy to have your family come and stay with us during this joyous time! Your sister will make a great entrance into London society I am sure!” Lord Albert Crosbie told his nephew. He was a quite round fellow with jowls that resembled a bulldog. William couldn’t help but chuckle at the differences between this man and his father. Though brothers the two men were very different from one another. William’s father, Lord Walter Crosbie, was always stern faced and capricious. His uncle, Lord Albert Crosbie, was always jolly, enjoyed good food and company. Both brothers, however, had a immovable reverence for convention and disdain for those of a lower class than they.

After a long conversation with his uncle, aunt, and cousins Eric and Alexa, William was finally allowed to wash and dress in his new quarters. After considerable argument he convinced his uncle that he had no need of a manservant while he stayed with them, He assured them that he never had one while he was at school and was now accustomed to the privacy. Now in the room alone we put away the few items he had brought with, though many were to be delivered later. He laid down on the bed with a great sigh, settling in for a long stay.

Chapter 2

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

In a very small apartment three blocks from the house of Lord Albert Crosbie, lived a young girl with her aunt and uncle. As the c**k crowed that morning she found herself especially tired. She shifted on the straw mattress, repositioning herself so the sharp pieces which stuck through no longer pained her. The girl winced as her sore muscles began to work again after their short and unfulfilling sleep.

“Good Morning Helen” she whispered to herself. She didn’t speak these words sarcastically or even pitifully. She spoke them because she knew if she did not say them this morning, she would hear it nowhere else. As her feet hit the cold floor she nearly slipped back onto the bed. When her balance was recovered she looked down to find a small bound book had been the culprit.

“Must have slipped from my hand as a fell asleep” she deduced as she carefully picked up the precious object and returned it under her mattress. Hopefully, her uncle would not find this one and attempt to sell it. She only kept one or two books at her home, the others she kept at the laundry. The other washers there couldn’t care less for her pile of dirty books in the corner.

She shivered as she changed into her frock, a brown tweed thing that had seen better days. The patches on it had become so numerous they had formed a continuous pattern. She tip toed out of her room, delicately stepping over the whiskey bottles strewn about. She quietly avoided the chair where her uncle still lay, alcohol on his breath.

Helen slipped into the dark room at the end of the hall and lit the small candle on the bed stand. She caught her breath at the sight of her aunts pale motionless features. With a trembling hand Helen touched her cheek; cold as ice. Mrs. Martha Hubert had always been a kind aunt though weak in many ways. Her husband, Mr. Hubert, was a large and disgusting man. He was angry and abusive when drunk and the same when sober, though he rarely ever was. He sold and delivered kindling to many houses in the early mornings with Helen. All the income from this went towards drink. The medicine required for Mrs. Hubert after she fell ill was also forfeited for his unquenchable thirst.

Helen began to rub her aunts wrists fearfully.

“Aunt martha!” she whispered. “Wake up!”

Without opening her eyes her aunt took a deep rattled breath and Helen choked back tears in relief . She took a rag from the bowl and wiped away the beads of sweat on her aunt’s forehead. She also took a blanket, though full of holes, and covered her with it. Though winter was over the chill could still freeze one through at night. In the top drawer was a vile of medicine, out of which Helen dispensed two drops into Miss Martha Hubert’s mouth.

After seeing to Mrs. Hubert’s care, Helen tip toed from the upper rooms and down the stairs. She could hear the neighbor's baby crying already that morning. The child had been ill so often in its young life already, it would doubtful survive till summer. Helen went to where they kept the wagon and began to bundle sticks and lift them onto the back. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon and the morning was frightfully cold. Helen rubbed her eyes tiredly as she searched for the sun’s warmth wished her stocking were not so worn out. The bundles were remarkably heavy and she struggled under the weight.

Her uncle had increased the burden stating that “the bigger the bundles the fewer trips we have to make, and the less time it will take at each house.” Though he never carried a stick. Helen had learned not to complain. They were warded off by her Uncle’s increasingly bad temper. When the drunkard finally descended the steps the wagon was loaded. This was good since if it had not been Helen would have been severely chastised.

The first house that they delivered to that morning was just inside of the covent gardens, where the wealthy lived. They had delivered to the house for many weeks now so Helen instinctively carried a large bundle of kindle to the drawing room by way of the kitchen entrance. She put down the large bundle near the fireplace with a loud “thud”. Her fingers ached from holding the cord and she rubbed them as she walked back towards the door. As she walked across the room she gasped, seeing a figure approaching her. She shook her head at her foolishness when she realized this figure was her own in a looking glass hanging next to the doorway. She gazed at herself as she neared it. “When was the last time she had looked in a looking glass?” She could scarcely remember. “Is this truly what she looked like? This haggard looking thing.”

From her count she was barely four and twenty but who could see any youthful glow under such a thick layer of dirt? Her blond curls hung limply under her mop cap, Helen half-heartedly tucked a few back, though the act did not much to improve the image. Peering nearer in the glass she wiped away some smudges of dirt from her cheeks and pinched them to turn them red as though they had some life in them. She shook her head as she noticed her lifeless blue eyes becoming glossy with tears. She pushed them away with her fists and hurried out of the room. “This is why one should not gaze too long in mirrors” she told herself angrily as she rushed to the wagon.

“Where ya been? Does it take ya that long girl?” a mealy growl met her.

“Sorry Uncle,” she said quickly as she pulled herself onto the back of the wagon which did not wait for her to mount before jolting into motion.

The sun, as if dipping a toe out and then retreating away, disappeared behind thick gray clouds. The cold day now grew damp as the clouds erupted with torrents of rain. The thin canvas atop the wagon fluttered as Helen desperately tried to tie down the corners to keep the kindle as dry as possible.

The next house was a new one to their route. It was beautiful and tall, standing as though a carved statue with gardens filled with color and life. The back of the house was beautiful as well and Helen eagerly grabbed up the kindle, excited to see inside. She jumped down into a deep puddle of muddy water which immediately filled her shoes. She entered the kitchen as quicly as possible, trying to shake of some water. It was a very cozy kitchen, with kitchen maids scurrying around holding puddings and a smell of bacon and eggs wafting through the air. A pleasantly round cook approached her, wiping her hands on her apron.

“You the new kindle delivers?”

“Yes mam, where shall I put the bundle?” Helen asked the cook politely, who looked at her with a surprised expression.

“Why, how well spoken you are my dear, you been schooled?” the lady asked.

It was true, Helen did speak well and not with the Londoner drawl that was common in her circles. It was from reading aloud under her covers as a child, from listening to the ministers, and practice that made that possible. However, if she wished Helen could speak as any common street vagrant.

“She ain’t been schooled” Mr. Hubert said angrily in the doorway. He marched forward and pushed Helen to the side.

The cook took a step back from the large man and said hastily, “Please put it in the sitting room, third door down the left, the family should be just finishing breakfast so do make haste.”

Helen scurried down the hall, carrying the heavy bundle. She slowed her pace as her eyes widened at the beautiful place. The dark wood banister swirled around the stairs like a sea wave, the chandelier glittered and scattered light throughout the room even without sun coming through the windows, and Helen smelled in the sweet smells of wood and breakfast. She delivered the bundle into the beautiful sitting room, taking great care to place it elegantly near the fireplace.She new the family would be done with breakfast soon and so left the room quickly and walked back towards the kitchen. She had almost reached it when she chanced to look into another room in the hall. She gasped softly and her feet turned toward it automatically.

It was the most beautiful library she had even beheld. The books were shelved to the ceiling on bookcases that curled around like ribbon. She could hear voices still coming from a few doors down in the breakfast room and so she delicately dipped her small foot into the room. She inched towards a shelf and closed her eyes, taking a deep inhale of the sweet smell of cedar wood and leather bound books. One caught her eye, a beautifully bound edition of Shakespeare's sonnets, just inches from her face. She lifted up her fingers and touched the spine softly with a trembling finger.

Suddenly, a hand violently grabbed her arm and twisted it. She fell to her knees with a painful cry. The hand held firmly and she looked up into a young man’s red face, with his brow twisted furiously and with clenched teeth.

“What do you suppose you are doing urchin?” His voice boomed and his grip tightened.

“I...I am so sorry sir!” she blubbered out breathlessly.

“Cousin?” Another young man entered the room in alarm, “What has happened?”

“This street walker was stealing books from the library!” the red faced man told the other.

“No sir...I…” Helen began but was stopped by a renewed twisting of the arm.

“Hold your tongue!” The man said angrily and began to drag her towards the kitchen.

“Cousin!” The other man called after them. He bit his lip with indecision and then followed to the back of the house.

“Cook!” the red faced man called, and the round graying lady bustled out with wide eyes.

“Why, sir! What is the matter?”

“Why have you let thieves into our private rooms, Cook?”

“Thieves?”

“Yes marm, caught her in the library,”

“Why Sir Eric, I had no idea!”

The red faced man pushed Helen out the door toward the wagon. Her uncle, with pounding feet, soon approached her.

“Ay, what's the problem?” he asked the young gentlemen in the doorway.

“There may have been a misunderstanding,” the second gentleman inserted.

“William, please do not concern yourself of these things in my house. The ladies must be desperately in need of your company in the drawing room.” The red faced man silenced his companion.

William bowed politely at his cousin's wishes and turned to return to the drawing room. He only went a few feet and lingered at the door of the kitchen.

“This girl of yours was pilfering in our rooms,” Eric told the kindle seller angrily.

Mr. Hubert took his niece by the neck roughly, causing her to cry out in fear. He pushed her down the ground with a growl.

“What say you girl?”

“I did no such…”

He grabbed the back of her head and pushed her face into a large puddle of water in the street. Helen flailed and kicked but Mr. Hubert’s arms held her strongly. She pushed up against her Uncle’s strong hand just enough to take a gasping breath before being pushed back down in the mire. The cook covered her mouth with her hands and let out a aghast cry as she hurried away.

“Eric, surely….” the gentleman in the doorway pleaded with his cousin but the red faced man remained still.

“Sir, I am a good businessman,” Mr. Hubert looked up at the red faced man named “Eric”, “I swear, sir, this whelp of a girl will never lay on eye on anything of yers again in her life sir,”

“Can we be sure?” the red faced man said with a sarcastic twinkle. Mr. Hubert pushed Helen’s head back into the puddle where she choked and scrambled.

“Cousin enough!” William cried out as he rushed back into the kitchen.

Mr. Hubert let his niece up to catch her breath. Helen remained kneeling there until her uncle finally received a nod from the master, Eric, and returned to his spot on the wagon. Helen could feel the eyes of the two gentlemen on her as she picked herself up from the ground, pulled herself onto the wagon and ineffectively tried to wipe the mud from her face with her muddy apron. She set her lip and clenched her teeth to keep them from trembling. She would shed no tear for them.

William watched the wagon as it rattled off and at the young girl he had seen so mistreated. He looked at Eric, his cousin, with disgust.

“Oh William!” Eric said with a laugh, “Why do you fret so about such trivial things?”

William shook his head angrily as he turned away from him. His boots made loud echoes through the elegant house as he mounted the stairs to his chamber. He would write another letter home to his sister. Something that would remind him of better place than this.

Chapter 3

--------

A few days passed by and again William again began to pine for school. When he was asked to go ahead of the family to make their coming known to London society in lieu of his sisters presentation he had heartily agreed. Now being in this house with his kin was turning to be just as stifling as his home in Cambridge had been.

The days were long and meaningless. He read a great deal but could only escape for so long before reality dragged him back involuntarily. He had read a great many books from his uncle’s library, greatly covered in dust he noted. Each week was also filled with a great many social niceties. He had to be sure to send greetings to the Halifaxes, stop in for tea at the Grays, dance with at least one of the daughters of the Waresters, and the list was endless. William had had enough after the first two social events. To think of spending another month here till his sister and parents arrived would send him into despair.

He took out his travel kit and prepared for a good shave, taking great care to mix his cream to the right consistency. He took extra time to lather and carefully scraped his chin. The more time he could perform this ritual meant less time at breakfast being forced to talk with his boring uncle and aunt, his sinister cousin Eric, and his superfluous cousin Alexa.

As he dabbed his face he was met by a calming scent that he enjoyed so much he decided to take a larger inhale. He realized it came from the linen with which he had dried his face. He rather enjoyed the curious new scent. When he came downstairs he realized he was still early and the rest of the family would not be down for breakfast till at least 8. He decide to go to the only room in the house that was busy with activity. Inside the kitchen, Cook was rushing here and there, ordering about the maids. When she saw him her face lit up with a large smile that complimented her round cheeks. Her skin glowed and looked surprisingly youthful for a woman with grandchildren and grayed hair.

“Sir William!” She said happily as she rushed towards him, wiping her hands on her apron, still surprisingly clean and white.

“No need to stop your work on my account, Cook,” He told her affectionately. Cook was one of the only people in London whose company he genuinely enjoyed.

Cook gave an appreciative smile and return to her rolling. She had a thin layer of dough on her table and was expertly spreading it with a well powdered rolling pin.

“Have a cake sir, you are too thin,” she nodded toward a small plate of treats she customarily kept available.

“Don’t mind if a I do Ma'am,” he said happily, taking a round cake with with a large pink flower.

“My face cloth this morning had the most curious scent to it Cook, do you know of this?”

“How perceptive, Sir William. Why, it's a new service we are receiving. I have been sending out a few pieces of our laundry to be washed for us. The mistress loved the scent so much that I have been sending more and more pieces. Lavender I believe the girl told me. Her very own recipe. Has it not been to your liking sir?”

“Oh no ma’am on the contrary I find it very pleasing. A girl you say provides the service?” William questioned.

The Cook’s face changed and her eyes became wide with alarm.

“Oh sir! Just a girl that's all…”

“But Cook, why so on guard? There is nothing wrong with employing a girl to do some linens for us.”

“Sir, you are a kind man.” she began, “You see it's the girl sir, the one that day….” she stopped, shuddering with eyes closed as if the memory was vividly occurring as they spoke.

“I see,” he nodded. He too remembered the event all too clearly.

“Sir, no one has asked who it is who delivers the service to us. I would not lie to the Lord and Lady. She does do such a good job that I….” her voice grew frantic.

“No need worry ma’am,” William put up his hands innocently, “I will not offer that information to anybody. That woman has enough problems as it is without us being one of them.”