Writing Historical Fiction – Class Blog

Lesson 1 PART 2

THE SNOOP

Alice had just rose from a deep sleep to the sound of the lady of the house Mrs. Parrish frantically ringing her bed side bell for assistance. Shuffling along at a pace she could tolerate due to her aging arthritic body; she placed her disfigured hand on the door handle and turned it to see Mrs. Parrish who has been bed ridden for five years, wide awake pen and paper in hand working herself into an absolute flurry.” Alice my dear as you know I have arranged the morning tea in the tea room and have gone to a great deal of effort and thought as to the guest list” she said hurriedly “yes misses” Alice replied.  “Now I need you to go down to the tea room as quickly as you can and not be seen by the guests. You must also take note of who is in attendance. Go now you must rush, hide out of sight quietly where you can eavesdrop on what is said and report back to me” she said as she handed Alice the guest list.

Alice. Surprised by the request turned and hurried as fast as she could toward the tea room and find a suitable place to hide. In her rush to get into hiding she forgot that she missed her daily morning. trip to the rest room for a wee twinkle. She thought for a split second and concluded she wasn’t that desperate and could hold on. Thinking of the timing she thought, this small request from the Misses should not take long to fulfil.so she could be in and out in no time. Everyone was busy admiring the portrait of the master of the house, this gave Alice time to slip inside the room and behind the large ceiling to floor maroon velvet drapes.

Only minutes into the task she was given she started to look around the hiding spot when she noticed the build up of dust on the door skirting boards hidden by the bulky long drapes providing her cover. The drapes due to the movement from her entering the hideout , Alice could see dust in the air as the sun shone through the glass doors. Taking out her fine lace handkerchief, placing it over her nose, she thought oh no I am so allergic to dust, don’t move and it will settle. Today was not her lucky day, more ladies entered the room, then another then she saw Gwen in all her glory enter placing her umbrella at the door. My goodness she is a beautiful woman, shame about the polio leg, Alice thought. She could smell and feel the dust getting up her nose. Oh no not now, please not now hold it in.

Gwen and the house maid Joy were standing close enough for her to hear and see through the small gap in the curtain. They were talking about the portrait and who the painter was and that it was A WOMAN that is still spending a lot of time with the master of the house, even after the painting was complete and hung. Alice’s s mouth dropped open as she saw a look of pure anger come over Gwen’s face. Why would she be so angry, unless…..she was she seeing Mr. Parrish also.  Then Alice could not hold it in any longer, pressing hard with the handkerchief on her nose and mouth ATCHOOO  she thought, I don’t think anyone heard it but the curtain did flutter. Alice peaked through the curtain as joy was helping Gwen to a seat. Alice was screaming in her head to herself, she thought NEVER and I mean NEVER sneeze at your age with a full bladder. Everyone was fluffing over Gwen when Alice saw an opportunity to escape and she took it as fast as she could, not straight to the misses but to the rest room to evaluate the damage to her underwear.

1873, France
Spring time in France is like a country coming to life awakening from the winter chill, the days are milder and longer. You can feel the sun rays of the afternoon send a warm golden glow to embrace the dawning season. over the lawn we see nature bursting into colour and a time when the croquet players polish their mallets and balls and head out to embrace the day with friends for a game of croquet. Richard and Betty, Frank and Pam have been close friends since their school days and loved the time together regularly playing their favourite game of croquetas. The mallets clicked and the balls traced their smooth and polite arcs through the hoops in a bid to knock the opponents ball out of the way to reach the peg first. Richard and Frank, while very competitive at the sport, both men congratulated each other politely like true gentleman when they achieved a one up stroke on each other Richard said “Good show ol chap I see you have a sharp eye as well as some type of power over the ball I must say” Frank just nodded and smiled but inside busting with pride over his stroke of luck against his best friend. Betty and Pam laughed too loudly, their parasols tilted like flustering peacocks, while their husbands—Richard and Frank—argued in friendly banter about the final score. Summer had made them all indulgent.
It was Bettys shot that sent the blue ball astray, through the dandelions and vanished into the bushes at the edge of the lawn, where lavender met boxwood. Richard stepped forward to retrieve it, bending down low and pushing his way into the thick bushes, he had to push aside leaves with the tip of his mallet then stretch in to reach the ball.
Suddenly he stopped at the sight of a dull and dirty metal object among some leaves. He reached in a little further dragging it with the mallet so he could pick it up. When he saw it he immediately recognised it and dropped it back on the leaves where he had picked it up.
“Frank” he said, quietly gesturing with his hand not wanting to draw attention of the others “Come here.” then he pointed toward the ground where his find was now laying.
There on the ground among a few rustled drying leaves shadowed by the shade of the bushes he noticed, a gold wedding ring, glinting but dull he looked inside and there bore an inscription—F. à P., 1868—still clear despite the dirt.
Frank felt the air thin Pam had sworn, years ago, that the ring was lost down a drain at the back of the house and she had made many attempts to retrieve it even stating she got her arm caught in the pipe. She had told the story so often it had become a family legend.
Frank spoke first handing it with an outreached arm in Pams direction “That’s yours, isn’t it, Pam?”
Pam’s face reddened, her heart seemed to miss a beat then race like a race horse. “No, it’s nothing just an old ring. But if it is I must have dropped it long time ago.”
“What _Here?” Richard asked. “In my garden?”
Franks voice shook his anger rising in his chest. “You said it fell off in the river.”
“I said I couldn’t find it,” Pam snapped. “Must every word be weighed like a crime?”
The laughter from moments before curdled into accusation. Frank folded his arms. “If she lied about this, what else did she lie about?”
Pam turned on Richard. “You planted it.”
Richard laughed, sharp and humourless. “To what end, tell me please?”
The argument spilled across the lawn—old grievances dragged into daylight, debts recalled, glances reinterpreted. The ring lay between them, small and merciless, until Pam snatched the ring from ranks outreached hand.
“Enough,” she said. “This ring doesn’t prove everything—but it proves something, and I won’t spend another summer pretending.”
The croquet game was abandoned. And in the quiet that followed, the countryside seemed to listen, as if it, too, had been waiting for the truth to surface. The majestic spring morning with all its beauty glowing, now sits in sorrow, forlorn and wonder.

Gwen arrived at the home of the Parrish family, a middle-class estate with exquisite taste of the late 1800s. As usual she was late but uses the excuse again “this darn brace takes forever to put on my leg you know, polio has been my worst enemy.”. Even so, she was a lady of eloquent style and outstanding beauty of which Joy, the household lady’s maid was a little envious causing the odd sarcastic comment. “Oh, do come in my dear, you look stunning in that amazing cotton dress, such a beautiful shade of cream and trimmed at the ankle and long sleeves with pale pink lace sets you off nicely. Oh, look you have a small stain on the wrist there dear (she remembered seeing that last time she was here for tea) you might like to cover it with your shawl so it won’t be seen” I remember you wear it often”. Joy was of short stature and plain looks and attire in her mid-thirties. As Gwen entered the sitting room the magnificence of color coordination of pastel green walls, cream then lined the cornice on the walls with gold trim on the edges made her gasp., so typically decorated for 1880 she thought. Placing her cotton brolly that protected her fair skin from the elements on the door stand as she entered the room. the waistline and bodice of her dress reviled her perfect figure any lady could wish for. That is when she saw it, looking over at the heads of the other guests in the room at the hand painted Portrait above the fireplace of the master of the house Mr. Parrish himself. Clumsily due to the brace “Oh my” she gasps as she clomped over for a closer look at the artwork. Gwen being a collector of fine art looked at the paint strokes, the colors and texture of the workmanship. Unable to make out the signature of the creator she turned to Joy ” By whom was this masterpiece created?” Joy leaned in to speak with a whisper to Gwen “well I am not at liberty to say my dear” she looked over both shoulders and those near her to ensure the walls didn’t have ears and she could not be heard. ” It … was … a …woman! and Mr. Parrish has been spending many, many hours with her, rumor has it even after the painting was complete and hung”. The curtain which hung over the doorway from celling to floor in majestic maroon velvet moved and Gwen thought it was the wind. Her heart pumped with anger at that point knowing she too had spent many hours after dark with the said Mr. Parrish and this was never mentioned in their conversations, even though their minds where on other matters. Not giving a passing thought to Mrs. Parrish who has been bed ridden for at least five years, Gwen said “I’m a tad week in the knees I may need to sit down for our tea now ” with a stark straight grin as she looked around at the other woman for a distraction.

It was easy to find the conservatory entrance, above the archway a plaque “Nature’s Sweet Whispers”. The guest had finished breakfast and with the invention of saccharin most of the guest needed sunshine. One couple Fred and Marilyn walked into the conservatory to find seating. The sweet fragrance prompted a discussion about the beauty of the flowers and plants with flourishing butterflies and pollinating hummingbirds in their vision. Most impressive was the glass dome covering the room. Fred leans towards Marilyn as she speaks of her dislike for sugar. She notices Fred had used three packets of saccharin in his tea. Fred uses a suggestion that Marilyn should accept him even with his desire for sweet tea. Marilyn being undecided about their future motions Fred to step away, he was getting too close to her, getting passionate. Marilyn was happy in the conservatory with Fred. This he knew! As a warm feeling filled the room Fred told Marilyn that he was in love with her. Admiring a Berthe Morisot impressionist painting on display in the conservatory, she looks away from Fred as he confessed his love for her.

It wasn’t more than a glance, a masquerading guest with the same costume as the one I was wearing. The mask of a villain. I am one of the guests arriving at the front entrance where invitations matter. Taking myself up to the first step on the staircase, I notice a mirror reflection of the villain. The night has an enchanted and playful atmosphere. I felt like a butterfly chasing a twin through the laughter and delightful conversation among guests. I dance into the party in search of this villain. Being a spectacle!

It’s then, and only then, that she visually recounts the pleasure of reading my poems beside her bedroom window in the early morning light. The sun’s rays carry in the fresh scents of garden flowers. She sees the basket of fruit placed on her bed. However, my poem has her in a trance, a desire for more longing. The day will only begin when she lets her hair down.

Note: I did not read the description of the painting and thought the person sitting on the ground was a woman. So instead of changing my story, I left it the (incorrect) way I had written the story 🙂

It was supposed to be a simple game of croquet. Nothing competitive, just a simple game.  

But then Joanna decided she just had to get the winning strike. The frown on her face let me know that she was determined to beat my score. No matter how she achieved that. Our team was already ahead of hers in points and she knew it. 

I do not know why she always wanted to be better than me. I tried to be nice to her, but she was often rude and curt to me. I brought her flowers from my garden to brighten her day and she grumbled about the ants they would attract. I made sure my jobs were done well and quickly, so she would not have extra work. Even offering to help her with her work when mine was finished was met with “Are you trying to tell me I can’t get my work done on time?”. 

I think it all started when Bobby showed up. He was the unmarried brother of my friend Alyssa, and he was so handsome! He had walked me home from the manor one night (with a chaperone trailing behind, of course) and had asked if he could do that again. I immediately said yes. He waited at the door of the manor for me every evening when my work was done, and we talked all the way home. 

Joanna obviously had her cap set for him and was jealous of Bobby’s attention to me. I had not sought him out. It was the other way around. The fact that Joanna was 3 years older than I and getting close to the age of being forever an unmarried woman might have had something to do with it. 

So, the game of croquet was something Joanna wanted and needed to win. She had to prove her worth and this was how she was going to do it. 

We had drawn straws to see who would be on each team. Bobby and Joanna ended up on the same one and Alyssa and I made up the other one. Bobby kept watching me, but that just made Joanna play harder, determined to show Bobby how good she was. But Alyssa and I had played many games together over the years and it was showing in the score. 

The day we played our game was a lovely late spring day. We played near a copse of trees, the shade keeping us from getting too warm. Mr. Barnes, our employer, had hired a watercolour artist to come with us. He wanted to have another painting for his library, and he thought this game might provide interesting subject matter. ‘

It was odd to have someone sketching and painting you while you played. It took a while to feel comfortable having him watch us. Soon, though, we were involved in the game and began to forget he was there. 

When I look back at this picture, I am reminded so much of the time and the people I spent with at the manor: Joanna, with her perpetual frown and determination to prove herself, Alyssa with not a care in the world, sitting on the blanket near the trees and Bobby. He is the one I miss the most. I shared a special time with him, walking and talking, and now he is gone. I’ve tried to keep track of where he is, but that is not always possible. The mail is slow, people move on, and we lose track of those we call friends. 

I hope he and Joanna have had a good life together. 

In this Parisian home a living room table was adorned with a teapot, and teacups for the afternoon party. The two women were on the couch discussing their evening venture to the opera theater. One of the women leans to the other to address a secret by whispering in her ear. Luxurious attire had been the topic openly talked about between sips of tea. One could guess that the laughter involved the clothes being worn. The undetected behavior of a young man hiding behind the dark blue large living room French linen curtains detected a sense of laughter, a misunderstood secret of social standing.

A gossamer veil of fog and the glistening of dew are most noticeable during the transition between seasons, particularly from summer to fall. The French countryside is active with couples having a game of croquet. This Painting by Edouard Manet holds a place inside the Victorian clubhouse. The game being played involves Anna (blue dress) and Margaret (white dress) so while Margaret is positioning to tap the ball with her croquet stick, fellow artist Alfred and his friend have a chance to enjoy their company. Paul standing points to something in the shrubs. He does not approach the area on the lawn. Their repose they exhibit is almost meditative. However, he is pointing to a basket in the shrubs.