Lady Graves, Day 28 - prompt: medicine -NaNoWriMo 2018 - freewritemadness **R-Rated**

in #freewrite5 years ago

Nine half-naked pagans could debauch the night away and as long as it wasn’t with her Niklaus, her beloved Herr Doktor, their nocturnal sins had no impact on her....The night had nothing to do with her! The princess, though--the Other Evelyn--would have reason to fret over the spectacle, if she knew how far her bridegroom would go in celebrating the rites of Spring...


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Lady Graves is my NaNoWriMo novel in progress.

Chapter One begins here: Lady Graves - ch. 1 - NaNoWriMo 2018 - freewritemadness: Day One

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR-ish

After the prolonged and treasured intimacy

of the stone cottage, Evelyn had all but forgotten how she’d been raised on a great estate with large rooms, and many such rooms, with many people hustling about at any given time. Lindenstein was hardly any bigger than Everleigh. The banquet hall held several long, long tables, and it was easy to get lost among the family, friends, visitors, and last-minute guests congregating for brunch.

The prince was in great demand, so she was spared having to make small talk with him--the man who so nearly became her husband--perish the thought! The princess, too, was surrounded by well wishers and hangers-on, but her lady in waiting kept a vigilant eye over all those who ventured near. From a distance, it was hard to be certain this was Hannah, but where else would Vee’s mother position herself? Her bearing was different, more regal; her figure slim and trim; her hair charmingly arranged and colored with a red-gold henna, most likely to hide the graying dishwater-blonde that Evelyn remembered.

Helga, who was all ears when she wasn’t all mouth, reported that Lady Annette was her name. Well. Well, well, well. What would the the prince do if Lady Annette proved to be the mother of his bride, who was just a maid? And what would Hannah do to keep anyone from finding out? Evelyn shuddered to think of it, given what had been done to Reginald.

As they were being seated, she tried to make herself as small and inconspicuous as possible. The feast laid out before them was an embarrassment of riches, with the enticing smell of bread, melting butter, ham, bacon, jellies and jams, and the sight of hard boiled eggs in the shell with little stocking caps knitted just their size to keep them warm. Helga gave hers a quick wack with a knife and sliced it clean in half. “Ah, just as I like it,” she said. “Walking, not running,” as the golden yolk spilled onto her toast.

Her annoyance with Helga turned to gratitude as the the pagan woman diverted attention from others by virtue of her vividly red hair, if nothing else, and her infectious laughter. Even in a cold wet rain Helga would be brimming with life and love for whatever nature brought next. She had boasted of skinny dipping on snowy winter days, and Evelyn had doubted it, until their campouts on the road to Lindenstein. Helga was built to last. She was primed , conditioned, well prepared to survive whatever tricks and schemes others might seek to ensnare her with. If anything, she was the schemer now, the trickster, using her voluptuous sexuality any time or place it would serve a higher purpose.

When had her beloved Hannah become so ambitious? From the day Evelyn was born Hannah had been in place at Everleigh as a cook. More than a cook, she was a healer, a nurturing presence, queen of the kitchen which was the source of comfort food and heavenly aromas, the heart of the home, the go-to place for solace and first-aid of the physical as well as the emotional sort. Hannah’s herbal remedies, her chicken soup and her teas were better than any apothecary’s medicine; the kitchen was her domain; she was loved, admired, appreciated. How could her parents let her go--and once she’d been sent abroad, what would induce her to harm the girl she’d mothered alongside her own?
Everleigh as a cook. The kitchen was her domain; she was loved, admired, appreciated; what would induce her to mutiny?

Memories came leaking from under the doors in Evelyn’s mind. Hannah, caught weeping, would quickly dry her eyes when Evelyn entered the kitchen and act as if all was well, but she had not responded with a meek “Yes, Sir,” to Lord Everleigh’s orders to relocate to a foreign land that was weeks away from England. None of Evelyn’s family would even attend the wedding! They were all too busy to take so much time away from their affairs.

The pain of it struck her again. The tears she shed, in vain, the pleas she uttered, unheeded!

But you loved your dear grandma of Lindenstein, they reminded her; you learned her native tongue, you love her Nibelungenlied as much as she did. You are young and strong and resilient.

In less certain wording, there was the subtext: You are a troublemaker, an embarrassment. Where is the English lord who would wed the wild thing, Evelyn, with her strong opinions and her foolish eagerness to give voice to them?

Rejected by her own parents. Ignored by her siblings.

Exiled.

Unlike Napoleon exiled to Elba, she had done nothing ambitious or excessive... had she?

Why had her parents, the lord and lady of Everleigh, ordered not just the maid Vee but Vee’s mother, the cook, to follow Evelyn to a new life so far from home? Hannah had seemed to regard it as a punishment, pleading to be allowed to stay back, begging that Vee might remain with her as well, but Evelyn had insisted that Vee was more like a sister to her than her own sister, that they even looked like sisters, that her new life at Lindenstein would be no life at all without her most cherished friend, a mere maid, going with her.

It was her own fault Vee and Hannah had been consigned to the road to Lindenstein.

Why did her parents insist that Hannah must go too? Why had her parents insisted that Evelyn marry this faraway Prince Hal in the first place? He was interested in her dowry and her childbearing potential, it seemed, and little else. Evelyn would rather die unmarried, she had argued, but they would have none of that.

Something sinister lurked between Hannah and the Lord of Everleigh and his wife, Evelyn’s mother, who had doted on little Louisa but shunned Evelyn for as long as she could remember.

If Hannah had orchestrated her revenge by removing Evelyn and installing her own daughter as the princess and herself as the lady in waiting, she wouldn’t have presented herself as a cook when they arrived at Lindenstein.

Evelyn worked it out in her mind, her thoughts rising with the swirling mist that steamed from the coffee mug she gripped in both hands.

The maid and the coachman had fled, or so it was said, and then the maid’s mother, but the other Evelyn apparently had managed to procure a lady in waiting, who in English society was often a noblewoman, but of lower rank than the woman attended. Like Evelyn after her weeks in the stone cottage, Hannah had thinned and hardened, losing her rounded edges after so many weeks on the road. Her figure looked slimmer and more youthful, and the red-gold henna in her hair made her look younger.

Various conversations rose and fell around them. Evelyn could scarce take them in. Her gaze kept traveling back to that of the princess--the other Evelyn--the maid Vee, dressed in an elegant gown that never would have belonged to her in all her years as a mere servant at Everleigh. The lowly but now exalted maid sat at the right hand of the prince, quiet and demure--she had learned something from all the lectures Evelyn failed to internalize--and her prince joked and laughed so hard he would occasionally spit chunks of food if something was especially amusing.

The prince also cast frequent glances at Helga. Unlike Evelyn, the man apparently suffered no qualms about recalling sordid incidents in the night. How many other men in his company had been among the nine around the campfire with the jingling bells and linden sticks and half-naked pagan women performing some perverse fertility ritual to celebrate spring’s return? Ach! Try as she might, Evelyn had yet to remember the single most epic event in her life, that which left her more dead than alive in a shallow grave--and, try as she might, she could not forget the lurid images of a night that had nothing to do with her. Prince Hal, her would-be husband, cavorted with these unanständige, unmoralische Frauen! Nine half-naked pagans could debauch the night away and as long as it wasn’t with her Niklaus, her beloved Herr Doktor, their nocturnal sins had no impact on her. Was Fritz Lanza among the nine? She had not looked at faces. A pity. All she could see in her mind’s eye was a lurid circle of nine full moons thrusting and pumping, and all those pale, hirsute bums and thighs. In America, the redskin men would be smooth and hairless.

She slammed her coffee down and forked a slab of ham.

The night had nothing to do with her, Evelyn kept reminding herself, and she wondered what had possessed Stangler to allow her to witness such a lurid spectacle.

The princess, on the other hand, would have reason to fret over the spectacle, considering that it was her bridegroom cavorting so shamelessly with harlots. To think--Evelyn herself would have spent the past night in that man’s bed!

She cringed, and Stangler laid a hand on her shoulder. He whispered in her ear how hard it must be for her to behold the royal newlyweds, but she shook her head, then leaned in, her lips touching the fine hairs of his earlobe. “I am nothing but grateful to be spared that fate,” she said softly, softly, her fingers wandering under the table to grope his thigh. He winced as if in pain, but one thing she had learned in the night was that there was a very fine line between exquisite pain and pleasure, judging by the wounded-animal noises the nine men made as they pummeled the pagans.

“I have lost all interest in justice,” she whispered. “ I am quite ready and willing to leave the two women we’ve just seen to the predicament they chose for themselves.”

Stangler’s gaze shifted to Archibald, whose head was lowered. From her position at the table Evelyn could tell that under the hat brim, his eyes were shifting, taking things in with that dignified quietude she had known and loved in him and Reginald.

Reginald.

A murderous rage arose in her once again.

The princess picked at her food, looking rather pale and listless. Her lady in waiting hovered over her, solicitously, while casting occasional glances around the great hall. Sure enough, one was bound to land on Lady Graves, the original Evelyn. The woman nudged the Other Evelyn, who joined her in casting a look directly at the real Evelyn.

Lady Annette was indeed Hannah; she was sure of it now.

Hannah glanced at Helga, then looked again, her eyes widening; she said something to the princess and fled the room.

Well, that was strange. It was definitely Helga, not Evelyn, who prompted Hannah's sudden exodus.



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Day 29 - wc 1709 - more to come!!!

For a chance to WIN SteemBasicIncome just read and comment on @mariannewest's #freewritemadness posts NovMadFan.gif For more information visit the @freewritehouse

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Two hours, 1700 words.
One day left! 10,000 words to go!
Gaaaaah

Your #NovMadFan Bruni says you can do it. Please, with sugar on top! 🙏

You can do alot with 10,000 words, work it @carolkean 💕

It's our "broke" resident mailman Bruni, delivering today's prompt ✉️
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https://steemit.com/freewrite/@mariannewest/day-405-5-minute-freewrite-thursday-prompt-broke

Ooooooh! I want to read more and find out what this is about Helga and the usurpers!

Well, if you really feel like you have to do the 10,000, you can always do a sprint every hour, or every half an hour. But with this

Nine half-naked pagans could debauch the night away

kind of quality writing - who cares if you got the 50,000 or not 😛

Honestly, You have written some great stuff and I know you have done some editing and such. As far as I am concerned, you are a winner!!!

I am so happy that Lady Evelyn didn't marry that Prince. Looks like Vee got what she deserved, or should I feel sorry for Vee if her mother is behind this. I can't wait to see how this story ends. : )

Down the home stretch! Yay! This resident cat is your #NovMadFan and telling you to grind those gears! : )

I stopped at 44,284 words, after a rather rushed finale, and feel as if it doesn't really need a lot more, but if NaNo needs me to nail 50K by midnight tomorrow, I'll look at this again in the morning. First drafts are never good, If they come from me, and I'd normally take ten years revising a novel I spent a month writing... do I post the rushed, raw ending here at Steemit, or save it in hopes I polish and publish... THANK YOU @whatisnew for cheering us on!

I would wait because I see how you like to make changes. Just my opinion. Follow your gut. If you feel it doesn't need any more words, then by all means post it. Either way, I know it will be a perfect ending. I am so happy for you that you made it to the end, and in time. I am itching to read the finale. : )

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