| General Fiction posted May 16, 2022 |
  |
First Chapter
Marsdale Manor
by zanya
A brisk April breeze blew cherry blossom leaves along the horses' path. The carriage slowed down as it rounded the final bend before arriving at Marsdale Manor.
Earl Edward peered through the carriage window. It had been some time since his last visit. Little appeared to have changed. The oaks still stood tall along the avenue. In his youthful days Edward remembered carving names into the bark.
Today, Papa, Squire Arthur, would be laid to rest in the family vault, facing the rising sun on the Manor's east wing.
In his eighty-fifth year Papa had fought the good fight, facing life's challenges with all the vigour of those born as the first world war broke out.
The carriage came to a halt outside the iron gates, firmly closed today and bound with a large black silk bow. A valet arrived to unlock the gates.
'Good morning, Earl Edward, I am William, your late father's valet,' the man said, brushing back a large mop of white hair.
'Good morning, William, pleased to make your acquaintance. You will, I trust, continue to work for me at the Manor, following papa's passing,' Earl Edward replied.
William replied:
' Sir my time is up here at the Manor. Such matters are no longer any concern of mine.'
Earl Edward was unsure as to what might lie ahead at Marsden.
Alighting from the carriage, Earl Edward was directed to the drawing room where ladies and gentlemen in mourning attire, spoke in respectful whispers. A mere handful of mourners were present. Reaching such a great age, Squire Arthur had few friends remaining.
A young housemaid moved among the mourners, offering glasses of brandy or port. Earl Edward requested a glass of the Manor's aged brandy to revive his innards following his overnight journey from London to Marsdale, a grand total of ninety- eight miles.
As he sipped the brandy a man approached to shake his hand:
'Earl Edward, I wish to offer my condolences on your father's passing. You and I were students together some thirty years ago.'
Unsure as to the man's identity Earl Edward strove to accept his condolences.
'Sir, I thank you for your kindness. However, since it is almost a decade since I've visited Marsdale, I have, sad to say, allowed many familiar faces to fade from memory.'
'Good sir,' the man replied 'and so it is with us men of middle years. Memory begins to fade. My grandchildren's faces are the ones I am most familiar with and perhaps it is the same for you. I am, Earl George, residing in the neighbouring village of Peyton.
Remember those interesting hunting balls at my father's Lodge where we worked our charms to win the hearts of some eligible young ladies. What pleasurable youthful endeavours!'
'Indeed,' Earl Edward replied.
The funeral procession to the burial ground was about to get underway. The mourners arose from their seats in the drawing room and filed into the courtyard.
Chilly Spring breezes blew the ladies black mourning veils askew, at times obscuring their vision.
Earl Edward pondered how George had aged, his once handsome features were now furrowed by the ravages of time.
Earl George's grandfather status brought Edward's bachelor status into stark relief.
Earl Edward took a sideways glance at his face in the mirror as he exited the drawing room Though streaked with grey his fine mop of hair still displayed a good deal of black.
'Preposterous,' he thought to himself to be dwelling on such matters of vanity at my father's funeral.
The mourners were directed to their positions in the funeral procession. Next -of- kin were at the helm. Earl George came to occupy a pew ahead of Edward in the oratory on the burial ground.
The Dowager, Duchess Elena, from the nearby estate of Blenheim sat next to Edward. Catching sight of Edward, she leaned over her spectacles towards him remarking:
'Edward, how nice to meet you again. You've waited too long to return.'
Edward chose not to respond.
Just then, the funeral bell tolled, the mourners exited the oratory. On leaving the oratory, Duchess Elena regained her carriage.
Situated on a hill just beyond the orchard the oratory afforded a panoramic view of Marsdale.
In the sunshine on this early April day Marsdale looked somewhat dilapidated. Casing on the lattice windows was distorted. Paintwork was peeling from the gables.
Nature however was in full bloom. Trees in the orchard were about to burst forth into blossom. The scent of orange blossom hung in the air.
Edward's attention was drawn by the sight of his late mother's gravestone. Etched on the cold marble were those words which Edward carried with him all his life:
Here lieth Lady Carmen who departed this life on April 5th 1949.
Beloved spouse and helpmate to Squire Arthur,
who died in childbirth, bringing forth a stillborn son, Arthur Jnr.
Edward was forever puzzled by the fact of being the firstborn, two years earlier, yet not bearing the patriarchal name. It rankled at significant family moments like this.
On reaching the entrance door of Marsdale, the mourners filed into the dining room. Few remained for the funeral repast.
'Edward, old boy,' a voice called out, 'where have you been cavorting all these years? Do you have anything to show for it from those red- hot loins?'
Edward could feel his middle-aged face beginning to flush at the greeting.
Turning around he saw his old cricket partner, Lord Lonsdale, smiling broadly at him.
'Ah Lonsdale,' Edward replied, 'good to see a friendly face.'
'How is life in the financial world?' Lonsdale enquired.
'Ticking on,' Edward replied.
'And you, Lonsdale, how are matters in the legal establishment? I presume my late father called on your expertise for his last Will and Testament? He was such a secretive old bugger. Kept his cards close to his ageing chest.'
'No Edward, 'Lonsdale replied. 'I was not your father's legal representative. Didn't trust the locals, I believe. Went to London for his legal affairs, I'm told.'
'Do you have any heirs, Edward?' Lonsdale enquired, quite bluntly.
Edward baulked a little, at first, at the question.
'Heirs? No, not yet,' Edward replied.
'Not yet?' Lonsdale repeated with a loud guffaw.
'Not yet Edward,' Lonsdale continued, 'what on earth do you mean? You are a man of similar age to me, are you not? I'm in my early fifties, awaiting my first grandchild soon.'
'Is that all that matters here in Marsdale?' Edward continued.
'Yes,' Lonsdale replied firmly. This is what matters, Edward, succession, property rights. This is the real world, Edward.'
Edward sighed deeply.
'Issue, Lonsdale, no I have no issue.'
'Not even issue you haven't heard of yet? Why Edward those red-blooded loins of yours must have been instrumental in sowing some fruitful seed?
Have you forgotten our trip to Italy all those years ago and those nubile ladies who succumbed to our charms? How many more of those escapades did you have since?'
Edward began to feel the weight of years upon his shoulders. Meanwhile the mourners came to table to partake of the funeral feast.
Glancing along the table at the line of guests, Edward realised he was acquainted with few of them. How would he reintegrate into the local community when he would inherit Marsdale? he wondered.
Just before dinner was due to end, Edward rose from his seat to thank the guests for coming to honour his father's memory, finishing with the words:
'I look forward to renewing our acquaintance on taking over my father's estate.'
Silence descended on the assembled guests. Edward was deeply troubled by the response.
Soon he would have to grapple with the reality of ownership of his late father's estate.
As the April evening dusk began to draw in and Marsdale returned to its former quietude, Edward decided it was time to investigate.
Turning the brass knob on the door of his late father's study, he found it to be securely locked.
William, he thought, William will know where the key is hanging.
Descending the stone stairway to the servants' quarters, he knocked before entering.
The young housemaid who had served the drinks earlier was tidying up.
'Excuse me,' Edward began,' Is William available?'
Alarmed by an unexpected visitor, the young woman made as if to curtsy before replying:
'You be a visitor to the Manor, Sir? William ain't here and won't be here no more neither.'
'Visitor, no I am not,' Edward replied,' I am the only son and heir of the late Squire Arthur.'
'Heir, sir, you be the boss of the Manor? People say the new boss be a stranger?'
'Stranger, what on earth...?' Edward replied but realising it would be unfair to pressure the young woman to explain further he bounded back up the stairs and set off to investigate.
Yes, Edward thought to himself, Duchess Elena may be right, I've waited far too long to return.
Hurrying towards his old bedroom in the west wing he opened the door and taking the key from its place on the shelf he opened up his old, dust-covered bureau.
Rummaging through layers of paper, he finally found her card, dated ten years earlier:
My Dearest Edward,
It is with a heavy heart, a heart that loved you dearly, that I write to end our betrothal.
It has been far too long, five years in total.
With every good wish for your future.
Sincerely Yours,
Lady Rachel
How could I have been such a fool? Edward wondered. Lady Rachel was truly the love of my life, yet unacceptable to my late papa.
Edward felt a distinct frisson of fear as he contemplated his situation.
First Chapter And More contest entry
A brisk April breeze blew cherry blossom leaves along the horses' path. The carriage slowed down as it rounded the final bend before arriving at Marsdale Manor.
Earl Edward peered through the carriage window. It had been some time since his last visit. Little appeared to have changed. The oaks still stood tall along the avenue. In his youthful days Edward remembered carving names into the bark.
Today, Papa, Squire Arthur, would be laid to rest in the family vault, facing the rising sun on the Manor's east wing.
In his eighty-fifth year Papa had fought the good fight, facing life's challenges with all the vigour of those born as the first world war broke out.
The carriage came to a halt outside the iron gates, firmly closed today and bound with a large black silk bow. A valet arrived to unlock the gates.
'Good morning, Earl Edward, I am William, your late father's valet,' the man said, brushing back a large mop of white hair.
'Good morning, William, pleased to make your acquaintance. You will, I trust, continue to work for me at the Manor, following papa's passing,' Earl Edward replied.
William replied:
' Sir my time is up here at the Manor. Such matters are no longer any concern of mine.'
Earl Edward was unsure as to what might lie ahead at Marsden.
Alighting from the carriage, Earl Edward was directed to the drawing room where ladies and gentlemen in mourning attire, spoke in respectful whispers. A mere handful of mourners were present. Reaching such a great age, Squire Arthur had few friends remaining.
A young housemaid moved among the mourners, offering glasses of brandy or port. Earl Edward requested a glass of the Manor's aged brandy to revive his innards following his overnight journey from London to Marsdale, a grand total of ninety- eight miles.
As he sipped the brandy a man approached to shake his hand:
'Earl Edward, I wish to offer my condolences on your father's passing. You and I were students together some thirty years ago.'
Unsure as to the man's identity Earl Edward strove to accept his condolences.
'Sir, I thank you for your kindness. However, since it is almost a decade since I've visited Marsdale, I have, sad to say, allowed many familiar faces to fade from memory.'
'Good sir,' the man replied 'and so it is with us men of middle years. Memory begins to fade. My grandchildren's faces are the ones I am most familiar with and perhaps it is the same for you. I am, Earl George, residing in the neighbouring village of Peyton.
Remember those interesting hunting balls at my father's Lodge where we worked our charms to win the hearts of some eligible young ladies. What pleasurable youthful endeavours!'
'Indeed,' Earl Edward replied.
The funeral procession to the burial ground was about to get underway. The mourners arose from their seats in the drawing room and filed into the courtyard.
Chilly Spring breezes blew the ladies black mourning veils askew, at times obscuring their vision.
Earl Edward pondered how George had aged, his once handsome features were now furrowed by the ravages of time.
Earl George's grandfather status brought Edward's bachelor status into stark relief.
Earl Edward took a sideways glance at his face in the mirror as he exited the drawing room Though streaked with grey his fine mop of hair still displayed a good deal of black.
'Preposterous,' he thought to himself to be dwelling on such matters of vanity at my father's funeral.
The mourners were directed to their positions in the funeral procession. Next -of- kin were at the helm. Earl George came to occupy a pew ahead of Edward in the oratory on the burial ground.
The Dowager, Duchess Elena, from the nearby estate of Blenheim sat next to Edward. Catching sight of Edward, she leaned over her spectacles towards him remarking:
'Edward, how nice to meet you again. You've waited too long to return.'
Edward chose not to respond.
Just then, the funeral bell tolled, the mourners exited the oratory. On leaving the oratory, Duchess Elena regained her carriage.
Situated on a hill just beyond the orchard the oratory afforded a panoramic view of Marsdale.
In the sunshine on this early April day Marsdale looked somewhat dilapidated. Casing on the lattice windows was distorted. Paintwork was peeling from the gables.
Nature however was in full bloom. Trees in the orchard were about to burst forth into blossom. The scent of orange blossom hung in the air.
Edward's attention was drawn by the sight of his late mother's gravestone. Etched on the cold marble were those words which Edward carried with him all his life:
Here lieth Lady Carmen who departed this life on April 5th 1949.
Beloved spouse and helpmate to Squire Arthur,
who died in childbirth, bringing forth a stillborn son, Arthur Jnr.
Edward was forever puzzled by the fact of being the firstborn, two years earlier, yet not bearing the patriarchal name. It rankled at significant family moments like this.
On reaching the entrance door of Marsdale, the mourners filed into the dining room. Few remained for the funeral repast.
'Edward, old boy,' a voice called out, 'where have you been cavorting all these years? Do you have anything to show for it from those red- hot loins?'
Edward could feel his middle-aged face beginning to flush at the greeting.
Turning around he saw his old cricket partner, Lord Lonsdale, smiling broadly at him.
'Ah Lonsdale,' Edward replied, 'good to see a friendly face.'
'How is life in the financial world?' Lonsdale enquired.
'Ticking on,' Edward replied.
'And you, Lonsdale, how are matters in the legal establishment? I presume my late father called on your expertise for his last Will and Testament? He was such a secretive old bugger. Kept his cards close to his ageing chest.'
'No Edward, 'Lonsdale replied. 'I was not your father's legal representative. Didn't trust the locals, I believe. Went to London for his legal affairs, I'm told.'
'Do you have any heirs, Edward?' Lonsdale enquired, quite bluntly.
Edward baulked a little, at first, at the question.
'Heirs? No, not yet,' Edward replied.
'Not yet?' Lonsdale repeated with a loud guffaw.
'Not yet Edward,' Lonsdale continued, 'what on earth do you mean? You are a man of similar age to me, are you not? I'm in my early fifties, awaiting my first grandchild soon.'
'Is that all that matters here in Marsdale?' Edward continued.
'Yes,' Lonsdale replied firmly. This is what matters, Edward, succession, property rights. This is the real world, Edward.'
Edward sighed deeply.
'Issue, Lonsdale, no I have no issue.'
'Not even issue you haven't heard of yet? Why Edward those red-blooded loins of yours must have been instrumental in sowing some fruitful seed?
Have you forgotten our trip to Italy all those years ago and those nubile ladies who succumbed to our charms? How many more of those escapades did you have since?'
Edward began to feel the weight of years upon his shoulders. Meanwhile the mourners came to table to partake of the funeral feast.
Glancing along the table at the line of guests, Edward realised he was acquainted with few of them. How would he reintegrate into the local community when he would inherit Marsdale? he wondered.
Just before dinner was due to end, Edward rose from his seat to thank the guests for coming to honour his father's memory, finishing with the words:
'I look forward to renewing our acquaintance on taking over my father's estate.'
Silence descended on the assembled guests. Edward was deeply troubled by the response.
Soon he would have to grapple with the reality of ownership of his late father's estate.
As the April evening dusk began to draw in and Marsdale returned to its former quietude, Edward decided it was time to investigate.
Turning the brass knob on the door of his late father's study, he found it to be securely locked.
William, he thought, William will know where the key is hanging.
Descending the stone stairway to the servants' quarters, he knocked before entering.
The young housemaid who had served the drinks earlier was tidying up.
'Excuse me,' Edward began,' Is William available?'
Alarmed by an unexpected visitor, the young woman made as if to curtsy before replying:
'You be a visitor to the Manor, Sir? William ain't here and won't be here no more neither.'
'Visitor, no I am not,' Edward replied,' I am the only son and heir of the late Squire Arthur.'
'Heir, sir, you be the boss of the Manor? People say the new boss be a stranger?'
'Stranger, what on earth...?' Edward replied but realising it would be unfair to pressure the young woman to explain further he bounded back up the stairs and set off to investigate.
Yes, Edward thought to himself, Duchess Elena may be right, I've waited far too long to return.
Hurrying towards his old bedroom in the west wing he opened the door and taking the key from its place on the shelf he opened up his old, dust-covered bureau.
Rummaging through layers of paper, he finally found her card, dated ten years earlier:
My Dearest Edward,
It is with a heavy heart, a heart that loved you dearly, that I write to end our betrothal.
It has been far too long, five years in total.
With every good wish for your future.
Sincerely Yours,
Lady Rachel
How could I have been such a fool? Edward wondered. Lady Rachel was truly the love of my life, yet unacceptable to my late papa.
Edward felt a distinct frisson of fear as he contemplated his situation.
Earl Edward peered through the carriage window. It had been some time since his last visit. Little appeared to have changed. The oaks still stood tall along the avenue. In his youthful days Edward remembered carving names into the bark.
Today, Papa, Squire Arthur, would be laid to rest in the family vault, facing the rising sun on the Manor's east wing.
In his eighty-fifth year Papa had fought the good fight, facing life's challenges with all the vigour of those born as the first world war broke out.
The carriage came to a halt outside the iron gates, firmly closed today and bound with a large black silk bow. A valet arrived to unlock the gates.
'Good morning, Earl Edward, I am William, your late father's valet,' the man said, brushing back a large mop of white hair.
'Good morning, William, pleased to make your acquaintance. You will, I trust, continue to work for me at the Manor, following papa's passing,' Earl Edward replied.
William replied:
' Sir my time is up here at the Manor. Such matters are no longer any concern of mine.'
Earl Edward was unsure as to what might lie ahead at Marsden.
Alighting from the carriage, Earl Edward was directed to the drawing room where ladies and gentlemen in mourning attire, spoke in respectful whispers. A mere handful of mourners were present. Reaching such a great age, Squire Arthur had few friends remaining.
A young housemaid moved among the mourners, offering glasses of brandy or port. Earl Edward requested a glass of the Manor's aged brandy to revive his innards following his overnight journey from London to Marsdale, a grand total of ninety- eight miles.
As he sipped the brandy a man approached to shake his hand:
'Earl Edward, I wish to offer my condolences on your father's passing. You and I were students together some thirty years ago.'
Unsure as to the man's identity Earl Edward strove to accept his condolences.
'Sir, I thank you for your kindness. However, since it is almost a decade since I've visited Marsdale, I have, sad to say, allowed many familiar faces to fade from memory.'
'Good sir,' the man replied 'and so it is with us men of middle years. Memory begins to fade. My grandchildren's faces are the ones I am most familiar with and perhaps it is the same for you. I am, Earl George, residing in the neighbouring village of Peyton.
Remember those interesting hunting balls at my father's Lodge where we worked our charms to win the hearts of some eligible young ladies. What pleasurable youthful endeavours!'
'Indeed,' Earl Edward replied.
The funeral procession to the burial ground was about to get underway. The mourners arose from their seats in the drawing room and filed into the courtyard.
Chilly Spring breezes blew the ladies black mourning veils askew, at times obscuring their vision.
Earl Edward pondered how George had aged, his once handsome features were now furrowed by the ravages of time.
Earl George's grandfather status brought Edward's bachelor status into stark relief.
Earl Edward took a sideways glance at his face in the mirror as he exited the drawing room Though streaked with grey his fine mop of hair still displayed a good deal of black.
'Preposterous,' he thought to himself to be dwelling on such matters of vanity at my father's funeral.
The mourners were directed to their positions in the funeral procession. Next -of- kin were at the helm. Earl George came to occupy a pew ahead of Edward in the oratory on the burial ground.
The Dowager, Duchess Elena, from the nearby estate of Blenheim sat next to Edward. Catching sight of Edward, she leaned over her spectacles towards him remarking:
'Edward, how nice to meet you again. You've waited too long to return.'
Edward chose not to respond.
Just then, the funeral bell tolled, the mourners exited the oratory. On leaving the oratory, Duchess Elena regained her carriage.
Situated on a hill just beyond the orchard the oratory afforded a panoramic view of Marsdale.
In the sunshine on this early April day Marsdale looked somewhat dilapidated. Casing on the lattice windows was distorted. Paintwork was peeling from the gables.
Nature however was in full bloom. Trees in the orchard were about to burst forth into blossom. The scent of orange blossom hung in the air.
Edward's attention was drawn by the sight of his late mother's gravestone. Etched on the cold marble were those words which Edward carried with him all his life:
Here lieth Lady Carmen who departed this life on April 5th 1949.
Beloved spouse and helpmate to Squire Arthur,
who died in childbirth, bringing forth a stillborn son, Arthur Jnr.
Edward was forever puzzled by the fact of being the firstborn, two years earlier, yet not bearing the patriarchal name. It rankled at significant family moments like this.
On reaching the entrance door of Marsdale, the mourners filed into the dining room. Few remained for the funeral repast.
'Edward, old boy,' a voice called out, 'where have you been cavorting all these years? Do you have anything to show for it from those red- hot loins?'
Edward could feel his middle-aged face beginning to flush at the greeting.
Turning around he saw his old cricket partner, Lord Lonsdale, smiling broadly at him.
'Ah Lonsdale,' Edward replied, 'good to see a friendly face.'
'How is life in the financial world?' Lonsdale enquired.
'Ticking on,' Edward replied.
'And you, Lonsdale, how are matters in the legal establishment? I presume my late father called on your expertise for his last Will and Testament? He was such a secretive old bugger. Kept his cards close to his ageing chest.'
'No Edward, 'Lonsdale replied. 'I was not your father's legal representative. Didn't trust the locals, I believe. Went to London for his legal affairs, I'm told.'
'Do you have any heirs, Edward?' Lonsdale enquired, quite bluntly.
Edward baulked a little, at first, at the question.
'Heirs? No, not yet,' Edward replied.
'Not yet?' Lonsdale repeated with a loud guffaw.
'Not yet Edward,' Lonsdale continued, 'what on earth do you mean? You are a man of similar age to me, are you not? I'm in my early fifties, awaiting my first grandchild soon.'
'Is that all that matters here in Marsdale?' Edward continued.
'Yes,' Lonsdale replied firmly. This is what matters, Edward, succession, property rights. This is the real world, Edward.'
Edward sighed deeply.
'Issue, Lonsdale, no I have no issue.'
'Not even issue you haven't heard of yet? Why Edward those red-blooded loins of yours must have been instrumental in sowing some fruitful seed?
Have you forgotten our trip to Italy all those years ago and those nubile ladies who succumbed to our charms? How many more of those escapades did you have since?'
Edward began to feel the weight of years upon his shoulders. Meanwhile the mourners came to table to partake of the funeral feast.
Glancing along the table at the line of guests, Edward realised he was acquainted with few of them. How would he reintegrate into the local community when he would inherit Marsdale? he wondered.
Just before dinner was due to end, Edward rose from his seat to thank the guests for coming to honour his father's memory, finishing with the words:
'I look forward to renewing our acquaintance on taking over my father's estate.'
Silence descended on the assembled guests. Edward was deeply troubled by the response.
Soon he would have to grapple with the reality of ownership of his late father's estate.
As the April evening dusk began to draw in and Marsdale returned to its former quietude, Edward decided it was time to investigate.
Turning the brass knob on the door of his late father's study, he found it to be securely locked.
William, he thought, William will know where the key is hanging.
Descending the stone stairway to the servants' quarters, he knocked before entering.
The young housemaid who had served the drinks earlier was tidying up.
'Excuse me,' Edward began,' Is William available?'
Alarmed by an unexpected visitor, the young woman made as if to curtsy before replying:
'You be a visitor to the Manor, Sir? William ain't here and won't be here no more neither.'
'Visitor, no I am not,' Edward replied,' I am the only son and heir of the late Squire Arthur.'
'Heir, sir, you be the boss of the Manor? People say the new boss be a stranger?'
'Stranger, what on earth...?' Edward replied but realising it would be unfair to pressure the young woman to explain further he bounded back up the stairs and set off to investigate.
Yes, Edward thought to himself, Duchess Elena may be right, I've waited far too long to return.
Hurrying towards his old bedroom in the west wing he opened the door and taking the key from its place on the shelf he opened up his old, dust-covered bureau.
Rummaging through layers of paper, he finally found her card, dated ten years earlier:
My Dearest Edward,
It is with a heavy heart, a heart that loved you dearly, that I write to end our betrothal.
It has been far too long, five years in total.
With every good wish for your future.
Sincerely Yours,
Lady Rachel
How could I have been such a fool? Edward wondered. Lady Rachel was truly the love of my life, yet unacceptable to my late papa.
Edward felt a distinct frisson of fear as he contemplated his situation.
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Trying out my historical fiction wings again !
Thanks if you found time to read it - much appreciated.
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and 2 member cents. Trying out my historical fiction wings again !
Thanks if you found time to read it - much appreciated.
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