ckmsjunocom! Johnny, tell the contestant when she has won!

Ckmsjunocom is going to receive not just the first volume, So Rough a Course, in the Mercy's Embrace series, but the second volume, So Lively a Chase, as well. Upon receiving her address, we will be sending out the books, autographed by the author.

We also drew for a second place winner. So, MargaretinVa, you will receive a copy of So Lively a Chase.

If you ladies will e-mail me at susan@susankaye.com with your mailing information, I will see that the books go out as soon as possible.

Thank for playing everyone. There will be another contest in a couple of weeks, so be watching.

Take care--Susan Kaye.

One of the readers here asked, when buying a book, is it more profitable for the author to sell through the publisher or through an online store such as Amazon.

The most profitable venue is selling your own product. Anytime the middleman is removed from the equation, there is more profit. But, I haven't the time to set up a kiosk and sell books. If I did, I would make approximately 10 dollars a copy. (All figures are wide approximations and not exact figures.) The second most profitable avenue is for the book to be sold through the publisher. For me, this is Wytherngate Press. There is no discount--as demanded by most large, online sellers--and you will pay the cover price and shipping and handling. From a sale through WP, I make approximately 5 dollars a copy. When you buy from Amazon or one of the other megasellers, depending on special offers and how you configure your order, you may pay just under the cover price and little or no shipping and handling. I make approximately 3 dollars. If you buy a used copy of any book, the author makes nothing.

This shows how profits diminish significantly as the sales chain lengthens. This is one of the reasons authors are having a hard time. As in most things, about 20% of authors are making 80% of the profits and the rest--who are in standard publishing--are limping along. Self-publishing is becoming popular because the technology is becoming more author-friendly, and the stigma of it being the same as vanity press is easing.

With large chains, you the reader occasionally get a good deal on a book. Stores like Barnes and Noble and Amazon discount heavily new releases whose prices gradually go up once the hoopla is over. You may catch a break on shipping. Amazon is tightening the screws on publishers and consequently writers as they demand, and get, bigger discounts that they may or may not pass fully to the customer.

I'm not complaining about what I make. Who knew that spinning tales in Wide Spot, Oregon, a middle-aged woman could make a groat or two in the first place! My first concern is entertaining you all. If you can afford it, buy from Wytherngate Press. If not, but from Amazon. Heck, if you can't afford it, buy the books used and put me on you, someday-when-I-have-some-money list. You can always read a lot of my work online for free.

Bottomline: I do this because I enjoy it. I like knowing that the words I wrote while sitting in my little room make you laugh, and maybe cry. I depend on the Lord to provide for my needs.* If He deems it, I will have more money. If He deems you need to read for free, go ahead.

In the words of that great sage of Canada, Red Green: "We're all in this together."

Take care--Susan Kaye

Believers need money as much as the next guy, I just have to have faith that my God is good and knows and cares. Sparrows and hairs, you know.

It was not long before Anne noticed more people on the road. Some were walking alone or in groups of two or three. Occasionally, parties were driving large farm wagons. These were usually filled with hay. Passengers took full advantage of the warmth it provided. More often, other vehicles on the road were small carts much like theirs. Sooner than she liked, they were entering the outskirts of Dublin. She marvelled at the bustle of carts, carriages, people and animals clogging the streets. She also marvelled that Frederick was not in the lest bothered by the change from country quiet to city commotion.

Anne remembered the address from her cousin’s letters and Frederick asked a passer-by. “That was obviously wrong,” he said when the directions took them into a section of town completely unsuitable for the residence of a viscountess. They were soon set right and making their way through streets lined with rows of elegant row houses. “I would have expected your cousin to have a grand mansion.” Frederick was making conversation while a cart of chickens and a groom, attached to a highly polished barouche, sorted themselves out.

“They do. My father was somewhat disappointed when the invitation was for town and not the estate. He assumed they wintered in the country.”

“Ah,” was all he said.“Lady Dalrymple said it was small, but adequate.”

He made no sort of response this time.

The groom and the man with the chickens made vile gestures at one another and each went on his way. The stream of traffic began to flow again. They passed a row of houses capped by one that took up double the space. “That would be your cousin’s home,” he pointed out. Anne looked back quickly and saw that it not only took up the space of two houses, but also had a large fence circling the side. It was a very fine and more than adequate to Anne’s way of thinking.

The end of their time together was coming quickly and she wished to speak to him just a little more. “Would it be better to go in through the front door, or should I go in the back way?”

He looked her over, smiling. “Not to be rude, Anne, but I do not believe you could get through the front door no matter who you claimed to be.”

She looked down. It was true. There was not a footman in all of England—or Ireland—who cared for his job, who would allow such a frowsy thing inside his master’s house. “I see your point. There will be a benefit to me using the rear entrance.”

“That is?”

“With the usual tradesmen and such, no one will likely notice you leaving me off.”

“Clever girl.” He turned into the alleyway. “You would make a good spy, Anne.” He was smiling at her as he halted the cart.

“Or smuggler.”

His brow furrowed. “No, never that.” He looked towards the house.

There was a heavyset woman looking over greens offered by a gaunt man with a garish plaid shawl about his shoulders. There were two other young women plucking chickens. They sat on a bench against a metal railing surrounding what would be a stairway to the cellar. There were no other servants to be seen in the back courtyard. A wagon promising fresh and wholesome meats was parked with a man unloading a side of beef from it. Frederick handed her down and she waited until another, younger man, hauled down a crate and started to go inside. “Thank you for watching over me, Frederick.” She offered her hand. There was much more she wished to say, but fear again kept her silent.

He took it with both of his. “It was my pleasure, Annie.” Neither wore gloves and his hand was very cold.

He held hers for some time. “You had best go while he’s still inside.” He leaned closer and touched her cheek. “Don’t let them bully you.” She reluctantly let go of him. “Off with you now.”

He did not wait for a reply, but mounted the cart and tapped the little horse to move along. She watched for a moment, but soon crossed the alley to the house. Had she watched longer, there was a great possibility she might embarrass herself by chasing him down. She walked through the courtyard to the door. There was no one nearby so she went inside by herself.

The heavy woman entered right behind her and asked who she thought she was. “My name is Anne Elliot. My father is the Sir Walter Elliot. He and my sister are staying with our cousin, Lady Dalrymple.”
The woman looked confused for a moment, and then narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know what your trick is missy, but the baronet’s only daughter is right safe upstairs. She grabbed Anne by the arm and began to pull her along. “But we’ll get to the bottom of this scheme. Mrs Tong!”


Frederick slowed and then halted. He saw she had crossed the alley and watched her going into the house. He willed her to look in his direction just once more. She did not. The door began to close when the heavyset woman followed her. The door closed for good.


The hot, moist heat of the kitchen was most welcome. The atmosphere was chaos. A harsh woman's voice called for more pigeons. "Her ladyship has invited another for dinner to even out the table." Anne had given little consideration to how her disappearance would affect her family, or their hostess.

She and the woman halted before a tall, angular woman in black. "Look what I found, Ma’am.” The heavy woman pressed in behind Anne.

There you are." The woman glared at her. As she studied Anne’s clothing, her mouth set in a hard line. "You got no water or comb where you live?" The woman poked at her cheek and then lifted up the cloak. "What's this mess? You was told to wear black if you was to work upstairs." The woman began to pull Anne along as she called for "Mary."

“No, Mrs Tong, this ain’t the new girl. This one claims to be on of Sir Walter Elliot’s daughters.” Honeyed derision dripped from her voice.

Mrs Tong stopped and Anne was pressed between her and the heavy one. The woman faced her and studied her more closely. “You’re an ugly, nasty liar. Sir Walter’s eldest daughter was the only one to make the trip.”

The heavyset woman shoved Anne with her shoulder and sneered when Anne looked her way. She turned back to Mrs Tong. “But I am Anne Elliot. My sister is Miss Elizabeth Elliot and my father—“
Tong grabbed her arm and turned to back to the door. “Shut your mouth, liar.” The woman pushed her out the door, into the path of the meat man. Anne stumbled against him. The door to the house slammed shut. The curtain whipped aside and the heavyset woman stuck out her tongue and then disappeared.

“This house is the worst on the route.” The meat man puffed his cheeks and hefted a huge cut of meat in his arms. Anne opened the door for him. “Thank you, Miss.” He paused. “Count yourself lucky they didn’t take you on.” He nodded his head and went inside.

Anne stood for an instant when she thought of Frederick. She ran to the alleyway in hopes that he was not yet out of sight. She scrutinized the traffic but did not see his tall frame in any of the little carts about the way.

There was nothing to do but go to the front door.

---

I am not posting Pleasant Days next Wednesday, but will be posting from Barbara Cornthwaite's Charity Envieth Not. Drop by, relax, read from this great parallel to Jane Austen's Emma.

Take care--Susan Kaye

"A contest

I posted a chapter from Laura Hile's Mercy's Embrace earlier this week so you could get a feel for her writing and how much fun reading her would book would be. <hint>

The selection I'm posting today is a scene between Frederick Wentworth and Elizabeth Elliot. I think it's a great scene and captures Frederick well. I'd write it differently to be sure, but I think it's interesting to see how two writers perceive the characters and how they execute scenes.

(Frederick and Anne are married now. Elizabeth is becoming more and more beholden to Frederick as her father ducks his responsibilities.)

And so one fine afternoon, when Captain Wentworth chanced to be at home and looked to be in a receptive mood, Elizabeth presented herself at the door of his ground floor office. He rose when she entered.

“Good afternoon,” he said, with unbecoming surprise. When he realized that she had something to discuss, he indicated the chair before the desk. “Would you like to sit down?”

Elizabeth drew a long breath.  She expected to be uncomfortable, but she had no idea how much she would feel it now that they were face to face! “I have come to speak to you on a matter of some importance,” she said.

“So I can see.”

Apparently this was his invitation to continue. What shabby manners Captain Wentworth had! “It is a matter of business,” Elizabeth said, “in which you will be acting on behalf on another.”

Captain Wentworth’s stern expression relaxed.  “Is this about Mrs Smith?” he said, smiling.  “Anne has already informed me of the particulars. You may rest easy. I am prepared to act on her behalf.”

Elizabeth frowned at him; she knew no one named Smith.  “I have lately learned that my father is facing quite severe financial troubles, Captain Wentworth,” she said.

His smile froze.  “This is hardly a new situation,” he remarked, and leaned back in his chair. “But please, continue.”

“He is truly worried. In fact, I fear his anxiety is affecting his health.” Elizabeth waited for a response, but there was none. “He is despondent, Captain Wentworth,” she added.

“So I would imagine.”

He gave her no encouragement!  How despicable it was to be reduced to begging! “What I would like to ask,” she managed, “is whether you would consider assisting him to pay his debts. It would certainly give peace of mind to Anne.”

Captain Wentworth did not answer right away.  “I take it you refer to his shot at The Citadel,” he said.

“His shot? Do you mean his bill?  Is he behind in his payments there as well?”

“Is this a surprise to you?” Captain Wentworth’s smile became unpleasant. “Mr Savoy is most insistent about being paid on time. He is not happy with your father at the moment.” His eyes studied her face. “So,” he said, “I must assume that you are speaking of his other obligations. How much does he owe?”

Elizabeth moistened her lips. “I do not know,” she said truthfully. “Several thousand pounds, perhaps?” She came to the edge of her chair. “You see, I’ve been thinking. Anne told me the story of how you paid for the pianoforte—with that unexpected prize money—and I was wondering if you could do the same for poor Father.”

Captain Wentworth said nothing, so Elizabeth plunged ahead. “Surely there must be some way you can assist him.  Anne would extremely grateful. And,” Elizabeth continued, warming to her subject, “Father would be able to return to Kellynch Hall and not be a bother to you—or to her—any more!”

“A tempting inducement.”

“You see?” she cried. “Everyone benefits!”

“Everyone benefits,” he agreed, “except my estate. It’s a nice bit of wishful thinking, but fundamentally unsound.  What you are suggesting is that I rob Anne and our children of ‘several thousand pounds.’ Oh,” he added, raising a hand, “you aren’t the first to suggest this. Mary, too, thinks it a praiseworthy notion!”

Elizabeth froze to haughtiness. “Isn’t it?”

He lifted a pen and began to toy with it.  “I find it ironic,” he said, “that those who do not earn a living are always so quick to tell those who do how to spend their money.”

 “I’m not asking you to spend anything,” Elizabeth flashed. “I’m merely suggesting that you help Father!”

“Let me give you perspective. At my current rank, my yearly pay is in the neighborhood of five hundred pounds.” He tapped the pen lightly on the desktop. “A year’s worth of work, Miss Elliot, during which time I must support myself while at sea, as well as my wife and children here in Bath.”

Embarrassed, Elizabeth cried, “I’m not asking you to hand over your slave’s wages to Father!  But surely you can relieve some of his distress!”

“But I am in no way obliged to shoulder the load of his financial obligations!” He raised an eyebrow.  “Have you consulted with Charles Musgrove on this subject?  You’ll find him even less sympathetic. How many acres of his family’s land, I wonder, would he be obliged to sell to raise your ‘several thousand pounds’?”

Elizabeth eyed Captain Wentworth resentfully. Unfortunately, there was more. “The simple fact is this,” he went on. “When a man fails to provide for his family and shows not a particle of remorse, he is little more than grain for the grist mill of life’s consequences. To put it more bluntly, if a man refuses to swim, the sharks will eat him.”

Elizabeth was too shocked to say anything. She knew that years ago her father had treated Captain Wentworth very badly, when he’d first proposed to Anne. Did Captain Wentworth hate him so entirely?  Did he likewise hate her as well?

 Captain Wentworth smiled slightly.  “Let us say, for the sake of argument,” he continued, “that I do discharge your father’s debts. What then?”

Elizabeth found her voice. “I expect Father will return to Kellynch Hall.”

“Where he will retire quietly? And meekly live within his means?”

This, of course, was unanswerable.

“You know very well he would not.” Wentworth tossed the pen aside. “Within two or three years he would be back where he is now, just as much in the hole as ever.”

Elizabeth said, in almost a whisper, “People change, Captain Wentworth. Perhaps he shall reform. Turn over a new leaf, so to speak.”

“Perhaps.” The sarcasm in Captain Wentworth’s voice was palpable. “It occurs to me that your father has had sufficient motive to make such reformation before this—and has refused. He does not scruple, for instance, to deny his daughters of their rightful settlement income.”

Elizabeth flushed. She could no longer look Captain Wentworth in the eye. 

He broke the silence. “If ever I do agree to discharge your father’s debts, understand this: It will be after he is dead. Never before.”

“But think of Anne!” Elizabeth cried. “Think of her peace of mind!”

“I am thinking of Anne,” he replied. “While he lives, your father must find his own way.” The finality in Captain Wentworth’s was painfully obvious. The interview was over; she was now dismissed. Elizabeth rose with as much dignity as she could muster and said, through clenched teeth, “Is this your final answer, sir?”

Captain Wentworth likewise pushed back his chair. “It is.”

“Then,” she cried, “may God help poor Father!”

“What an excellent idea.” Captain Wentworth’s cold smile reappeared. “I suggest you apply to Him for the money.”

I love the last line. This is very Frederickesque!

Take care--Susan Kaye

 

Frederick and Anne have survived falling overboard, a night alone in the wilds of Ireland, and Christmas dinner with an odd assortment of people in an isolated cottage. What could possibly be next?

Tomas was mumbling as he rose from the table. The faint growl receded as he left the room. Wentworth remained to finish his wine. He said nothing but stared at the door for a moment. Cavan appeared and went into the unfinished room. Soon, Wentworth’s name filled the house, followed by a string of invectives. He rose from his seat slowly and smiled at Anne. “It is wonderful to be so universally loved.” He made a noise with his tongue and left them. Anne attempted to converse with Aine but she was not receptive and answers to Anne’s comments were short. They did their work in silence.

The day went on quietly with the only sound of the scraping trowel, brushes being dipped into paint, and Tomas’s swearing. Every quarter hour a lovely chime sounded from the clock on the mantle. Aine found small household tasks to busy her hand. She offered nothing to Anne. “You are our guest and must not be put upon.” There was little to occupy Anne other than listening to the clock’s soothing tick and watching the golden pendulum swing.

It was a relief, well after dark, to be called into the new room.

They all gathered to bestow the proper compliments on the workmanship and beauty of the space. “It is all thanks to our new friend, Captain Wentworth. I do not think Tomas could have finished without you. We will see each stroke of the plastering and think of your helping hands.” Aine had placed herself next to him, and touched his arm as she complimented him. Her smile was most beguiling and Frederick seemed to receive it with pleasure.

Anne turned away to further examine the workmanship of the room. To her untrained eye, Frederick’s work did look respectable. His willingness to undertake a task so foreign to him was a lesson worth learning. She came to an unfinished place in the wall, a nook the size of a small closet, next to the hearth and asked what it was for.

Aine joined her at the alcove. “It is to be used later. It will be used to store all of those troublesome things that accumulate about the house that just seem to get in the way.” She touched one of the edges, smiled at Anne and then went to join the rest.

It seemed to Anne an odd place to store things for the house, but it was not her place to judge how another woman arranged her home. She turned to join the others just as Aine placed a kiss on Tomas’s cheek. Anne was repulsed by the kind gesture. This strong reaction surprised her for, certainly, what passed between these people in the way of affection was none of her concern.

The overt effusive warmth brought the old man to the limits of his goodwill. With a great deal of sputtering--but no swearing--he practically shoved the women out. Again, Anne’s attempts at conversation with Aine were rebuffed. The girls were taken up to Aine’s bed, while Cavan, Tomas, and Frederick’s voices murmured late into the night talking. Anne tuned over and over in her little bed. At first she strained to hear the men’s conversation. When this proved impossible, she endeavoured to look forward to returning to her family. All she succeeded in doing was tiring herself further, and deciding that the night she shared with Frederick in the hide was not so bad after all.

***

The men had stayed so late in the new room that Anne fell asleep before Frederick came to his place by the fire. In the morning, he was not there, though the fire was blazing away.

Cavan and the girls were absent for breakfast, and other than Tomas’s observation of how being rid of two hungry mouths would be a relief, the morning was amiable. As they were leaving, Aine saw to Anne’s comfort with a bonnet and pelisse and a small packet of food. “Just a bit of a reminder of your time here at the cottage.” She did not look at Anne, but only Frederick.

As the cart jostled them, Anne savoured the short bits of closeness they had shared throughout their impromptu adventure. She particularly enjoyed recounting their conversation after she awakened that first night. It was a shame that Tomas had made them miss a second. They were well away from the cottage and Frederick had still said nothing. She reckoned that their friendly interlude was over and he was back to thinking of his smuggling. It saddened her, but she changed her mind when a sudden jog of the cart sent her flying and a strong hand pulled her back and set her right against him.

“You can’t get away that easily, Annie.” She looked up to see him smiling in a very sly way. He was unshaven when they met on the ship, and was even worse now. His hair had seen no comb for as many days. She had not thought it possible, but he now, at a glance, looked more the vicious smuggler than at first. But she knew him, and knew there was no viciousness in him. In fact, he looked more endearing then ever. In an instant she realised as dishevelled as he looked, she must be far worse.

She looked away and touched the bonnet Aine had given her as they left. It was frankly a very ugly bonnet, but it covered her head. She despaired there was nothing to be done to improve the dingy brown, rough wool pelisse that was far too big for her. Anne decided these gifts were Aine’s way of rewarding her for spoiling the Christmas pudding. She ventured to comment, “If escape is no use, I shall stay put.” She felt sufficiently clever then to put aside thoughts of her appearance for a time.

They rattled on for not too far before Frederick leant back, rested an arm behind her, and relaxed his hold on the reins. Anne noticed his hands were bare and that there were still tiny flecks of whitewash on them. “What did our hostess give us as a reminder of our lovely visit to the cottage?” He did not look her way, but kept his eyes on the road.

As she untied the string and opened the parcel, she said, “While this was a nice gesture, we are not so far from Dublin that we need provisioning, do we?” She opened the wool cloth that bound the packet to see several smaller parcels wrapped in cheesecloth. There, prominently placed, was a note. Across the note, in a feminine hand, was the word, “Frederick.”

She was tempted to keep the note to herself, but quickly regained herself. What was it to her if Aine was so forward as to send him a note? Anne suspected Aine knew she would be the one to open the packet and find the message. It was likely a more formal mode of thanks for helping finish the room. It was likely innocent and Anne’s fears and suspicions were wasted.

“What is it?” He pulled the horse to a halt.

She started. She hid the inner packet from his view and pretended to study the contents. “Aine has sent us a few bits of things left over from the dinner yesterday.” She paused, reluctant to touch the ordinary paper.

This is childish, she thought. I am a grown woman, and he is a grown man. He has shown he no longer has any partiality to me, and he should be given every opportunity to know of this woman’s feelings. She knew this too was a childish notion, but she would do what was right. She handed him the note. “This is from Aine.”

He looked surprised, but pleased. He took it, sniffed it, and put it in his pocket. “Walk on,” was all he said.

Anne was dying inside, wanting to know more, but how to inquire without being overly prying. “I don’t imagine that a woman living on this lonely strip of coastline would have much opportunity to have any fine perfume.” She studied the smaller packets of food in the bundle.

“Apparently not. Aine’s note smells of beef.” He laughed a little at the joke.

“I wonder that she did not send up some of my Christmas pudding.”

The easy smile disappeared and Frederick sat straight in the seat. The topic was obviously not to his liking.

He glanced her way for an instant and still said nothing. She was about to continue when he said, “I don’t know a lot about most women, but I know about her kind. She is the sort of woman you wishes to be the only woman around. You were a threat to her.”

“Me? How silly.”

“She was very kind to begin with, but I imagine something happened, something was said that changed everything.”

Anne considered this. It was true. Once Aine’s suspicions about her and Frederick’s past were confirmed, her demeanour was noticeably tinged with annoyance.

“Well, what was it?” Frederick looked at her, waiting for her to tell him what had caused the change in Aine. Anne could not tell him, of course.

He saved her having to obfuscate. “Keep it to yourself then. Whatever it was, she has made it clear she did not like it. It is just as well, she is the sort to avoid.”

His cryptic statement was followed quickly by, “What did you think of our hosts?” His expression remained serious and while the question was odd, but she assumed it had something to do with his change in mood.

“I think they were very kind to take in strangers. Particularly one as needy as me.”

“Yes, it was. And to feed us such a grand meal, that was more than hospitable I think.”

“It was very good. Aside from the pudding. I have to thank you for your comments. You lied very convincingly with that story about Liverpool Pudding."

"Yes, it was a rather good one."

“Why did you do that?"

"Aine was cruel to you. I am always put off by those who enjoy themselves at someone else’s expense."

"She did not like your manoeuvre.”

“And why should I care?”

“She is very pretty. And pretty women seem to have men’s natural sympathy.”

He laughed quietly, as though she amused him somehow. “That is true, but please remember that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and that, oft times, beauty is only hiding desperate wickedness.” The statement was harsh and cold and a little surprising. While she knew he spoke of Aine, she knew he would, perhaps, apply the same reasoning to her sister, Elizabeth. “What did you think of the table Aine set?”

Again, such an unexpected question caught her off her guard. He obviously wished to leave the question of Aine’s behaviour behind them. She thought for a moment about the table and the food that was served. Before she could answer, he asked, “What sis you think of the beef?”

“It was very tasty. Well-cooked I thought.”

He smiled and leant close. “I meant, what did you think of them having beef at all. Cattle do not do well anywhere near the shore but sheep are another matter. And believe me, when you are poor, if you scrape up enough to have a celebration at all, the feast would centre on mutton.”

What he said she knew to be true. She thought to mention that they had a saddle of mutton on Christmas as well, but thought better as it was only one of several meats on the table. Any comparison was best left unsaid. “I was surprised at the quantity, and now that you mention, the quality of the food. The wines were all excellent vintages and Aine had spices in abundance.”

“What of the tableware?”

Anne grew warm. “I must tell you, I was curious about all of it and did take a peek at the china. It is French.”

“French you say.”

“Yes, a very fine pattern. And the silver was from ________ in London. It is not cheap and I am surprised that Tomas would be so generous a man when it came to things of the household like that.” The blue kid slippers she wore also came to mind. “What did you think of the table?”

He glanced her way. “I too think it was very fine, but I don’t have any experience of fine china.”

She was pleased she could help him. “The crystal was very fine as well. I was quite surprised that Aine allowed the little girls to use any of it.”

“Thank you. I thought it was all rather out of place; I needed and expert eye to confirm my suspicions.

Anne laughed. “I am no authority, sir. But, I do know the feel of fine glass when I hold it.”

He made no reply. She noticed he was looping and unlooping a length of the thin leather reins. After a while he suddenly said, “Is it important about the table. As for Tomas’s generosity, I have discovered that he and Aine are not married and that everything in the cottage is Aine’s.”

This news was almost more unsettling than the idea of them being married. “But he lives with her. They sleep in the same …”

“As far as I can tell.”

“He is the father of her child?”

He laughed again. “That is a question I did not feel I could ask.” He shifted in the seat and she swore he was now closer than before. “When I spoke with him late in the night, he hinted at many things. If I want to know more, when I bring the cart back, I may stay and learn from him.”

“And will you?”

“I think I have no choice.”

Anne desperately wished to ask why he felt so, but his brow knitted itself and his mouth set hard again. Their time of polite conversation was ended.

---

Lady Russell is endeavouring to balance propriety and Sir Walter's ego. A delicate bit of work.

“And now,” said Lady Russell, “we must attend to business.” This, she knew, would be difficult.  How delicate was a gentleman’s sense of dignity!  How dearly she wished to avoid giving offense!  He looked at her with expectation, which lent her courage.  “Sir Walter,” she said at last, “exactly how much are you in arrears?”

“Are you referring to…money?” His voice quavered as he said the word.

“Yes, dear,” she said gently. “How much money do you owe the bailiff?”

Sir Walter’s face fell. “I-I do not know,” he said slowly. “Shepherd has handled everything for me.”

“Then we must contact Mr Shepherd.”

Sir Walter picked a thread from his sleeve. “You cannot imagine my distress, Amanda, to be so brutally treated. I haven’t even had my morning bath.”

“Yes, lamb, I know. I shall send for Mr Shepherd, and he will see to everything. My express should reach him this very day. As soon as you are free of this place, you may have a lovely warm soak in the tub.”

Sir Walter looked up. “Oh, you needn’t send for Shepherd. He’s here in Bath.”

Lady Russell brightened. “Why, that is wonderful!”

Sir Walter sighed again. “Not at all. The man is no longer in my employ. I dismissed him.”

Lady Russell was stunned to silence. “But—who is to handle your business if Mr Shepherd does not?”

Sir Walter hung his head. “I am sure I do not know.”

“Well then,” Lady Russell said bracingly, “let us see for ourselves what must be done. Would you be so kind as to summon the bailiff?”

Sometime later, after the warrant had been produced, Lady Russell and Sir Walter sat together at the parlor table.  She spent some time examining the charges against him which, as it turned out, had been brought by that evil physician, Mr Savoy. “Two hundred fifty pounds,” she read aloud. “That is not so much.” She looked up.  “My dear,” she said gently, “do you have this amount at hand?”

He cast up his hands. “How should I know? This all a mistake!”

“Very probably,” she agreed, “but it is in your best interest to pay the bailiff.”

“Thieves and robbers! That’s what the lot of them are!”

“I quite agree,” said Lady Russell, thinking of Mr Savoy’s heartless tactics.  “And yet you cannot go free until that amount is paid. Therefore, you will give me a draft on your bank, and I shall get the money.”
Sir Walter did not answer right away. “I…do not know if I have that much,” he confessed. “I did, but there have been so many expenses.” His voice rose to a wail.  “The excessive fee charged by Elizabeth’s modiste, for one. Unbelievable!”

Lady Russell made a clucking noise.  “Elizabeth,” she said. “Vanity, vanity! And what has been the result?”

But Sir Walter was not attending.  “Elizabeth!” he shouted joyfully. “By Jove, why didn’t I think of this before? Elizabeth must contact Rushworth, do you hear? She’ll have to send an express, but he won’t mind the expense. Men who are in love never do! Tell her to say this: I need that settlement money right away!”

Lady Russell frowned. “Settlement money?”

“Yes, yes. For the engagement! Elizabeth knows nothing about it, but Rushworth does.”

“Sir Walter, of what are you speaking? Money paid out at an engagement? I have never heard of such a thing! That is not a settlement!”

His voice took on a pleading note. “A little honey to sweeten the deal, Amanda, that is all.  Think of it as a—gift.”

Lady Russell’s brows knit. “Do you mean a bride price?” she cried.  “Great heavens!  Surely you didn’t ask it of him!”

“Of course not! He offered! Which was most generous, considering the sensitive nature of his proposal.” Sir Walter lowered his voice. “He is, after all, divorced. Think of the disgrace!”

“Would it be any worse than having a father-in-law in the—”Lady Russell broke off, horrified at what she’d been about to say. It was, she decided, unwise to remain here much longer. She needed time to think and so, it appeared, did he!

She pushed back her chair. “Leave everything to me,” she said, folding the warrant. “I will see to your clothes and have Longwell arrange for the dinner.”

Sir Walter’s face was eager. “And the express to Rushworth? He is in London, you know. At his house in Grosvenor Square.”

“You may leave everything to me.”

Sir Walter came around the table to assist her with her chair. “You know best, my dear,” he said meekly.
“You always do.”

As she reached the door, she heard him call her name. She turned. He held out her lace-edged handkerchief. “Did you drop this, Amanda?” he said.  His smile, she noticed, was singularly charming.

The drive back to Rivers Street gave Lady Russell time to think, and yet her thoughts did not follow a proper direction.  For some reason, she could not stop thinking of that handkerchief. There it was on the seat beside her, soiled with the dust—an ugly thing, really—and yet to see it made her smile.  How long had it been since a gentleman was so gallant? A very long time indeed!

The nicest thing about Sir Walter, she decided, was his charm. The man might be infuriating as to financial affairs, but his manners never failed to please. In all fairness, every gentleman had his bad points. Her late husband, for instance, could be incredibly vexing. And he had none of Walter Elliot’s graces to recommend him!

At last she pushed the handkerchief aside. There were so many things to be decided—so many things to be done! For as she was leaving the bailiff had mentioned a most interesting thing. Apparently there was a second warrant ready to be issued against Sir Walter, but because of a technicality—a missing seal or some such thing—it had not been brought forward. If Sir Walter were able to pay the amount he now owed, before the defective warrant was reissued, he would go free. But the question was, how long would that freedom last?

Lady Russell smoothed her gloves, tracing the ridges of the seams.  Such a tangle Walter Elliot had made for himself and all so unnecessary! If Elizabeth, Lady Elliot were yet alive, this catastrophe never would have occurred! Mr Shepherd had made attempt after attempt, but the sorry truth was this: Sir Walter Elliot could not be made to attend to a manager’s instructions. It was not in him to submit to lesser men.
Well, Lady Russell had come up with a solution, though he would not like it very well.  Neither would her solicitor!  Fortunately, Mr Hinks had his offices here in Bath. Lady Russell squared her shoulders and reached to pull the check string. It would be best to see Mr Hinks at once, before she changed her mind.

---

Enjoy!

Take care--Susan Kaye

The parlor in which Lady Russell was left to wait was littered with old newspapers and smelled strongly of smoke and sweat. She used her handkerchief to cover the seat of a rather grimy chair.  Presently Sir Walter was brought in. The elegant dressing gown was gone.  Instead, he wore an ill-fitting jumper made of coarse brown cloth over striped pantaloons. On his feet were woolen stockings, well darned. Lady Russell’s compassionate heart was wrung.  “Oh, Sir Walter,” she whispered.

Once they were alone, he gave a mournful sigh. “These clothes,” he said, making a futile gesture. “Have you ever seen anything so disgraceful?” His eyes brimmed. “It is bad enough to be in this place, Amanda, but to be so attired is—!” His chin quivered.

Lady Russell did not know whether to laugh or cry. Who but Walter Elliot would think of clothing at a time like this?  And what was he about, to be using her Christian name? “My friend, I am so sorry,” she said.
Again he sighed. “This is all a dreadful mistake.”

“Of course it is,” she agreed. “And as soon as you feel able, we’ll discuss what must be done.” She indicated the chair opposite hers. “Do sit down.”

He looked so glum that Lady Russell decided to bring out her Bible.  “Even in the face of shocking injustice,” she said, turning the pages, “we must not abandon hope.”

Sir Walter thought for a minute; his countenance brightened. “A brief confinement in the sponging house,” he said hopefully, “is not unknown among the more reckless members of the nobility. Due to gaming debts and such.”More Here...

We've been, officially, in the holiday season for a week now. Black Friday was middling and we are being encouraged to shop til we drop. I'm passing on that invite. Bill and I are working to get out of debt so this Christmas is going to be spare when it comes to gifts. Neither of the kids is employed so that makes me hope that our admonition of, "no gifts this year," will go heeded.

The best I'm doing it writing Pleasant Days in hopes of being finished. I'm stuck on A Word, A Look so to keep in practice, you will be getting PD in bits over the month of December.

So, how are all of you faring? Is this season, from the practical and economic side, shiny and sparkling or is it a more subdued time? Either is fine I've decided. I know many who love the season for all the family traditions and opportunities for generosity. I've never been big on the holly, jolly Christmas aspect. I struggle with depression at this time of the year--though things are on an even keel right now and it doesn't seem to be an issue--and have to find the joy of it in other ways.

How do you see your holidays going this year?

I see mine in front of a computer.

Take care--Susan Kaye