Work is crazy at the moment, so I’m snatching at every little bit of writing time I can, hoping the Muse won’t desert me. It’s a common problem, that ideas and time to work on them rarely happen at the same time.
Fortunately, Forever England, my set of Edwardian murder mysteries / spy stories needs a lot of research. I’ve got a stack of books to go through and much of what I read translates into snippets for the story the next time I’m out for a walk. Like this snippet from the first story, Under False Pretences.
We’ve so far had glimpses of Frank Mallory. Now it’s time for Frances to give us a few of her impressions. This is the evening of the day she’s been introduced to Mallory and after having to deal with his rather taciturn facade she’s doubly grateful for her father’s ideas of parenting, which are rather enlightened for the times.
From Under False Pretences
Frank. Mallory. Frances doodled the name over and over onto a pristine sheet of paper until she realised what she was doing and made herself stop. It was late in the evening and Frances sat at the desk in her study. It was across the corridor from her father’s and every time Frances entered it she again felt the thrill of being granted such an indulgence. Her desk was a beautiful oak piece with a leather writing surface and a row of drawers along the top. Shelves along the walls held her books and she even had a comfortable sofa and reading chair in front of the fire, and three separate reading lights.
The fully equipped study had been a gift from her father when she took a First in her university examinations, and she cherished it, knowing how lucky she was to have such an open-minded parent.
Professor Richardson had never treated her as his intellectual inferior just because she was female. For as long as she’d known him he’d invented games for her, and challenged her understanding of anything from English to logic to natural sciences. The only thing he professed total ignorance of was the visual arts, and Frances didn’t have much truck with paintings and sculpture either.
They both liked music and often attended concerts together, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d visited a gallery or even a play. These were not the diversions she needed in her life. And she imagined needing them even less since her talk with Major Dunhenning seemed to have gone so well.
Unless, of course, the taciturn Mr. Mallory put his foot down and refused to work with her.