One hand washes the other they say. So, I'm giving a hand to a dear friend whose book will be coming out in a few weeks. She's a great writer with a fun twist on Persuasion.

This week I will be posting a chapter from volume two of her upcoming book, Mercy's Embrace, The Elizabeth Elliot Story--So Lively A Chase. Next week I'll be having a contest with PRIZES!!

If you think that Elizabeth is an unlikely heroine, you're right. But sometimes great things happen with unlikely heroines.

Chapter 10 of the book lets you see Elizabeth in a new light, in love. And also lets you see Lady Russell taking care of business and Sir Walter at his exasperating finest.

I am particularly fond of this chapter as it is one Laura and I discussed years ago. And I mean years. The restaurant where we were having lunch has changed hands and nearly all our children are adults now. I can testify that a good writing friend and Chinese food can help in the creation process.

Please enjoy Laura Hile's continuation of Persuasion.



Lady Russell’s carriage came to a halt before a tall house of stained brick.  This was a very modest quarter of Bath, if that. Hullin went in to inquire, and for Lady Russell every moment was agony. Fortunately he did not keep her waiting long.

Again Lady Russell put the window down. “Well?” she demanded.  “What is this place? Is Sir Walter here?”

Hullin took a moment to answer. “It’s the bailiff’s house, milady,” he said slowly. “The man you’re asking about is here.”

“Thank God for that. Kindly inform him that I have come and will take him home.”

Hullin hesitated. “He won’t be going nowhere just yet, ma’am. He has business with the bailiff.”
Lady Russell peered over Hullin’s shoulder. “What is this place?”

Hullin coughed and said, “It’s a sponging house, milady. But not to worry,” he added quickly.  “There’s plenty worse than this.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Few streets over are some real hellholes. Places a man oughtn’t to be after dark. Right proper, this is.”

Lady Russell wouldn’t have described it in these terms, but she swallowed her comment. Again the building came under scrutiny. A sponging house, she knew, was the prelude to debtor’s prison—and bankruptcy. Sir Walter’s future would be littered with writs, law expenses, and ruinous sacrifices. But surely it was all a mistake! 

She addressed Hullin. “Is this sponging house a fit place for me to visit? For I would like to call upon Sir Walter.”

“He’ll be right pleased to see a friendly face, ma’am, and no mistake. But perhaps you’d best wait a bit? I imagine he’ll be settling in, so to speak.”

“Very well.” Lady Russell closed the window and sat back. Yes, there was much to sort out. The merchants of Bath were fiends! A man of Sir Walter’s standing ought to be treated with dignity and consideration! But now he was cast to the wolves, as it were, over what was obviously a simple misunderstanding.  Well, she would see him soon enough.  More Here...

In past postings, Anne and Frederick have met again after a two-year separation. It appears that Frederick has given up his hopes of wealth by legal means and turned to smuggling. They have endured a freezing night along the Irish coast, and now have placed their faith in locals who are proving to be much different than first thought. (If you wish to start from the beginning, click HERE. If you wish to read the last posting, click HERE.)

From the previous posting: “Aine gave a final, thorough stir to the pudding batter. While pouring it into a cloth-lined bowl, she said, "He is smitten. How long have you and the Captain been together?"

It was not so much the question that put Anne on her guard, but the tone with which Aine asked it. While Anne was somewhat sheltered, she easily guessed that Aine's meaning of 'together' was not in the most innocent sense. In this case, she thought, shading the truth was acceptable. "Together? Only for the last two days." It was an exceedingly awkward question and even answering it, Anne had to avert her eyes. However, she could not help a glance at Aine after a second or two. The woman was just looking away, but her smile seemed one of amusement.”
Aine moved a bowl closer to Anne. She took a pinch of salt, and then pepper, and a few other spices. As she amended the dish, Anne was sure the woman studied her with an interest more intense than formerly. All such notice was upended when Tomas and Frederick again walked through the room to the outer door. However, this time, Tomas was less discrete about his reproach of the captain.

The door slammed and the women returned to work. A moment passed and then Aine spoke. "You say that you and Wentworth have not been together but a few days. I find it miraculous."

Anne attempted to assuage her curiosity about Aine's observations by cleaning up around all the serving dishes, crocks, and boxes scattered about. The task did nothing to ease her mind. "And what is miraculous about us being together such a short time?"

She looked up from her work, brushed a lock of hair from her forehead, and smiled wide. "Because, he is very much in love with you, silly."

Anne was shocked at Aine's frankness. She tried to find words with which to respond, but there were none to be had.

"A man may have lustful thoughts about practically any woman. It shows in the eyes. But true love—which shines quite brightly in the Captain's lovely brown eyes—is an emotion born only of time and thought."

The words sounded so well in her ears. The thought that Frederick might genuinely love her still, so much so that a stranger could see it, was astonishing. However, if that were the case, why did she not see it, or sense it in some way? Her cautious nature caused her to step back from the high emotion of optimism and settle back on the safer ground of rationality.

"I doubt that Frederick—the Captain sees me as anything more than a burden."

"Why-a-burden?" Aine kneading bread dough punctuated each word. "It is clear to me when he looks upon your face, he sees not a burden, but a woman of great worth."

It would be so easy, so enjoyable to run headlong into belief that Aine was right about Frederick's feelings. For all of what seemed to be insight, the woman did not know either of them and to make such a claim was as much a guess about them both as it was a proclamation of true understanding. "The Captain is merely doing his duty." It hurt to say it, but to hope for more was to face the possibility of utter disappointment. She picked up some spoons and took them to a bowl of hot water on the far end of the table.

"He may well be doing only his duty, but please do not toy with me and try to make me believe that the two of you have known one another for only a few days."

She began to pick up various items in need of cleaning as she returned to Aine. "You are correct. We have known one another for some time. It was over two years this past autumn. We met when he came to visit his family in the area where I live."

Aine smiled. "And where is that?" She had finished with the bread, and was now clearing up the table.

"Somerset."

"Is that near Plymouth or Portsmouth?"

"My home is nowhere near either. We are a fair bit away from the sea."

"But he is a sailor."

"Yes, he was in the navy at the time. He was visiting his brother just after return to England after a great battle in the West Indies." She folded a cloth and saw not the task, but remembered only her first look of him in his uniform.

"I assumed when he introduced himself, he meant that he was the captain of his own fishing boat, or something of that nature. I did not suspect him to be an officer in the King's navy." She turned to wipe the table. "We must ready the dishes and such for dinner now."

"Yes. Well, he was not a full captain when I met him; he was but a commander then. It is new—the elevation to captain—but I think he is no longer in the service."

"What makes you think this? Why did he not remain in the navy? Time are hard and an income of any size is very desirable."

Seeing him in his role of smuggler was painful and she wished she had not told the woman anything. "He wished a change of occupation."

Her only response was a low, gentle murmur. "Time to get the pudding in the pot." To Anne she said, "You two never thought to marry?"

"My family did not view it as a suitable match."

"Ah, families can be the cause of so much heartache, can they not?"

"Yes, yes they can. So, in answer to your first question, we are not together, other than his being forced to travel with me."

Aine laughed and finished tying the cloth around the pudding. She looked at Anne as she passed to the hearth and a pot of boiling water. "I can see in your face that you do not believe me, but I still believe you are…." She lowered the pudding into the water, making sure the wooden spoon, which held the bag, was secure on the pot's rim. After she ensured the other dishes were progressing to her satisfaction, she returned to the table. "I don't mean to pry, and I wasn't casting aspersions; heaven knows I should be the last to say anything about the affairs of others; but any fool can see the man is in love with you."

Though Anne was coming to think in many ways Aine was a very clever woman, she doubted she knew her or Frederick all that well.
Wentworth was trowelling on the last of the plaster, covering the wattle wall where it met the ceiling. From the corner of his eye, Wentworth saw Aine step into the doorway of the room. She studied him for a moment and then summoned them both to dinner. On hearing the call, Tomas grunted it was about bleedin' time, dropped his paintbrush mid-stroke, and walked away from the mess of plaster, whitewash, buckets, and rags. Wentworth quickly put some order to clutter, taking care to cover the buckets with rags so as not to waste perfectly good whitewash and plaster. He wiped his hands as best he could, and just before joining the others, he prayed Anne did not notice his desperate need for soap and water.

In a neat twist of irony, it was left to Wentworth to say grace over the Christmas meal. Tomas made it clear he felt not the slightest need to thank any man or god for food he provided. "Would you, Captain? I think we must prove to Miss Anne we are not savages," Aine said. Before the prayer was finished, Cavan entered the house and took a seat next to the woman. With this new arrangement, the table was more unbalanced than before. Aine, Tomas, and now Cavan were the seated on the one side. On the other, Anne and Frederick were bookended by the two little girls. For young children, the girls took up a great deal of space on the bench; so much so that he and Anne were shoulder-to-shoulder. There was so little room that their plates not only touched, but rested one on the other.

Unlike a fashionable dinner, the platters were passed with everyone having as much of each dish as they liked. Tomas took from every dish as it passed by him, though he did not lift more than a fork. The little girls spoke to one another in Gaelic behind their backs, while the adults, except Tomas, spoke English. The conversation was about mostly about the new room. And though they all spoke of it as a great boon to the household, Wentworth was still never certain if it was to be occupied by Cavan. Though they all seemed to speak feely, he was never precisely sure who Cavan and the girls were in relation to Tomas and Aine. Who would occupy the room, or that it would be occupied at all remained a mystery. It mattered not. All he cared about was how well Anne looked after a good night's rest.

"Tomas says the room should be done this evenin'. That means you're leavin' in the morning?" Cavan ended his question by poking a heaping spoon of potatoes into his mouth. A large gobbet clung to the corner of his mouth. Anne took pity on him and cleared her throat while dabbing at her mouth with her napkin. Cavan took no notice.

Wentworth took a drink of his ale. Tomas had grudgingly brought it out when coaxed by Aine. He looked towards Cavan, but took care to avoid the potatoes. "Yes, I think we will be on our way tomorrow. And very grateful that you took us in." He nodded to Tomas—who was engaged in the brutal sawing of a slice of beef—and then to Aine. It was to her he was most grateful, for she took care of Anne's feet in particular; the most worrisome and dangerous aspect of the journey thus far.

"Yes, thank you all for your hospitality. And, thank you for the shoes, Aine. I have never had such a delightful colour. I shall treasure them."

"You are welcome, Miss Anne. Cavan, tell them what we've decided." Aine wiped away the gobbet and gave his mouth a general tidying in what seemed to Wentworth to be a rather tender gesture. Again he thought these strange people. The sooner he got Anne away from this place, the more at ease he would feel.

For a moment, there seemed to be a disagreement. Cavan and Aine spoke very low, with glances towards Anne and Wentworth. Tomas merely grunted now and then. Aine eventually smiled, and said, "You may have the use of Cavan's little pony cart. It will be an easy ride into Dublin in it. And it will keep the shoes from harm."

This was a stroke of good fortune indeed! Wentworth had gotten from Tomas that they were approximately four miles from Dublin, and the use of the cart would get them there with no difficulty. He would be able to take Anne to her cousin's house, return the cart, and then go to the rendezvous point where Harville would hopefully still be waiting.

With all the needs of the next day seen to, Wentworth settled down to enjoy the rest of the meal. When it was time for the Christmas pudding, he braced himself and was determined to eat it with good cheer and a smile. Aine gave him a knowing look when she placed a slice on his plate. Cavan did not care for any—too many bloody nuts and such—and the little girls were off to play already. Aine was extraordinarily generous with the hard sauce. Everyone was poised for their first bite when Tomas squawked and spit a large gob of it across the table.

He cursed in Gaelic, and continued to spit little bits of the pudding all over the table covering.

Wentworth glanced at Anne. She looked horrified and sat with a spoonful halted mid bite.

Aside from Tomas's violent antic, Aine's reaction was the strangest of them all. She sat unmoving, watching Tomas, smiling faintly.

Tomas paused his spitting and cursing to ask who made the pudding.

"Miss Anne did, sir." Aine sounded genuinely shocked.

The old man made a gross noise, slammed his napkin to the table, and left the cottage.

Wentworth glanced at Anne. Her head was bowed, her cheeks crimson. She was biting her lower lip, and she still held the spoon.

Cavan laughed. Aine herself giggled as she looked to the younger man. "I think Tomas did not appreciate the addition of the entire kidney to the Christmas pudding, Miss Anne. As for you, Cavan, I think you should know better than to laugh at the foibles of a guest."

Anne looked up and watched Cavan leave the table. She looked to Aine for a long moment and then she turned to Wentworth. "I am sorry. I know nothing about this sort of thing." Her cheeks were redder still, and her expression was the embodiment of anguish.

His heart bled for her. He glanced at Aine. She still looked at Anne. Her smile never changed.

Wentworth had been appreciative of Aine and her intervention with Tomas, and her helpfulness with Anne. This sly enjoyment of Anne's embarrassment was uncharacteristic with her previous behaviour. However, it did not shock him that she seemed to take pleasure in another woman's humiliation. He realised he had sketched her character in accordance with the surroundings. He again suspected she did not belong in this place. He knew little of how ordinary women treated one another. It was clear Aine was not an ordinary woman.

She had put down the spoon, and was now gathering the dishes and utensils about her. She paused in her task to look directly at Aine. "I am sorry I have ruined the meal, Aine. And after you have been so kind to us." It was obvious that Anne was no ordinary woman either.

Aine’s expression varied little and she made no attempt to comfort her guest.

Wentworth laughed. Both women looked at him, both very surprised.

"And here I thought the pudding was just being made in the style of Liverpool."

Anne looked confused, while Aine raised a brow. "You are not serious, sir." She glanced at Anne and then back to Wentworth. "I cannot believe that in Liverpool they eat Christmas pudding with the entire kidney in it."

Anne still had nothing to say, but studied him intently. "I am very serious. They are mostly poor in that city and there is no reason to waste a bit of good food." Anne's expression eased some. She looked away when she realised he now watched her. To Aine he said, "I find it a bit exotic, but I think those Liverpoolians are onto something." To prove his point, he took a huge bite and concocted an expression as brimming with delight as was humanly possible.

Aine studied Wentworth for a moment, and then looked towards Anne. There was a shade of annoyance to her expression, he thought, but it passed quickly and she soon rose to begin clearing the table.

!!UPDATE!! Thank you for the great response. Unfortunately, too many helpers can be as bad as not enough, so I am going to ask those whose e-mails are in my box right now to read for me.  If this works as well as I hope, there may be an opportunity to read another part of the book. Thanks for you time and your willingness to help.

Have you ever seen a macro photograph of a common object? At times you know immediately what it is, other times you struggle to understand what you are seeing. I'm having the same trouble with the first few chapters of A Word, A Look.

I mentioned some time ago that when I was finished with the first rewrite, I might ask a few of the blog readers to be First Readers for me. Well, I'm not finished with the first draft, or its rewrite, but I need some comments to help me determine direction. And to see some continuity kinks that I know are there, but elude me.

So, if you would be willing to read approximately 80 pages of my first draft, drop me a line. This will not be editing for publication, there would be no compensation, and there are no guarantees that I will use any suggestions you might have. All you get is a sneak peak of the next book and a bird's eye view of a writer's mind when they are "in the process."

Drop me a line at awal@susankaye.com if you are interested in helping.

Take care--Susan Kaye