Jillian Chantal

It’s Tuesday Tales day again. Time to read some story snippets.  This week, the word prompt is bark.  I used it two ways. I almost went with a third when I added the tree, but thought that might be overkill. 🙂 This is still my Regency Christmas story.

Check out the other tales here. 

After the priest prayed for him to find peace and open himself up for new love, Charles made his way to the side of the nave and lit a candle. “Go in peace, my love. I’ll never forget you.”

He turned too fast and barked his shin on the closest pew.

It took everything in him not to let out the word that almost came. The priest was still close by and it wouldn’t do at all for the man to hear such irreverent utterances. Much less in this holy place where I don’t deserve to be.

Sticking to a mild “ouch,” Charles hobbled to the double doors and back out into the cold.

Sending a wistful glance in the direction of the Hume mausoleum, he walked toward the closest café. A hot drink was just what he needed. A toast to the past as I move into the future.

He stopped beside a tree at the entrance to the café and knelt down to pat a dog sitting there. “Aren’t you cold? I know I am. Where do you live, boy?”

The dog let out a little woof—not even close to a bark—more like he didn’t have the energy to unleash a respectable sound.

A man stepped out of the cafe. “Is that your animal, sir?”

“No. I was merely talking to him.” Charles knew he sounded like a ninny, but the words came out anyway.

“If you’re on familiar enough terms with the creature, can you ask him to find somewhere else to sit? He’s been there for days. He needs to clear off.” The man waved a small towel in the general direction of the dog and Charles. “Shoo. Off you go.”

“Do you have any information on where the animal lives? I could try to take him there.” Why am I thinking about helping this dog? Surely he’ll find his way home.

“No idea. Just take him home with you. He seems to like you.”

Charles contemplated the black and white creature who stared at him with his head cocked and one ear up as if he were paying attention to the conversation. Maybe this is a step in the direction of opening my heart to love as the priest suggested.

“I will take him.” Charles took a calling card from his coat. “If anyone tries to claim the dog, have them call on me.”

The man took the card and looked at it. “I doubt it will happen but I will put it behind the counter.”

To his surprise, when Charles turned to walk away, the dog followed him as if they’d been together for years. Now to find the creature something to eat. He had to be starving.

Welcome to Tuesday Tales. This week, the authors are writing to the word slowly.  I am still working on the Regency Christmas tale.

Check out the other tales here. 

As he slowly made his way to the door of the church, Charles thought he heard the sound of a bagpiper.

Shaking his head, he tried to get the sound out of his head. His beloved had always loved the sound of the pipes and it was a bit too much for him to take at the moment. Charles didn’t believe in mystical signs and shrugged off the idea of a heavenly piper. It wouldn’t do to entertain fantasies even at this time of year. The baby Jesus story was one thing, but a piper playing a mournful tune in a cemetery was quite another.

He snuggled deeper into his two scarves and moved them higher to cover his ears. I’m imagining things and need to find the priest. Talking to a live man will help me push this music out of my head, because surely, my head is the only place it is.

When he arrived at the large mahogany double doors, he took a deep breath and straightened his spine.  Time to obtain a bit of advice about life and death and moving on with my life.

Almost frightened that he’s say something to cause the priest to cast him back out into the cold, Charles stepped inside. Warmth flooded over him as well as the smell of incense.

A young priest came toward him with his hands out in welcome. “Come in. Come in. Whether you came to silently pray or you need someone to speak with, you’re most welcome. I saw you out in the graveyard.”

Glad that he hadn’t gone to his beloved’s mausoleum since the priest had been watching him, Charles came further into the vestibule. “I could use an ear, Father, if you have some time.”

“Surely, surely.” The priest seemed friendly enough, but Charles knew he still needed to be on his guard.

Sorry I have been AWOL the last couple of weeks. I had to have emergency oral surgery and had a rough time getting well enough to focus on anything. It kicked my rear… in addition to my mouth.  🙂

I am still in the Christmas Regency story.  Each post this week is limited to 300 words. Check out the other tales here.

Charles walked around the cemetery with his gloved hands in his greatcoat. He wore two scarves his old, blind, nanny made to keep him warm. They were a jumble of mismatched yarn but since the woman was almost the only person who’d ever shown him love, he wore them proudly. Woe betide anyone who commented negatively on them. He was sure he’d receive a new one for his Yuletide gift from her.

He shivered. It was a brutal winter already. I do not even want to consider how cold it will be in the new year.

Avoiding the priest of the small church had been easy this time. The man wasn’t a ninny. He had more sense than to be out in the graveyard on such a bitterly cold day.

Charles was relieved. He wished he could visit this place more often but he couldn’t afford to attract attention. Even though he presumed he was alone, he avoided the burial place he truly wanted to visit. He usually got within a few plots of the family mausoleum, but feared being found close to the actual place where his love was buried. Visiting even from a distance gave him comfort.

What he’d give to talk to his lover now. Charles snorted. “If that were possible, the conversation would never need to happen.”

Unbidden, tears flowed. They froze on his cheeks, making his face tight. He brushed them away. Lord knew he’d cried enough tears over the loss of his future with his beloved. Time to move on and accept life was not going to work out as they wished.

He turned to head back to the church to light a candle and warm up a bit. Maybe he would have a word with the priest after all. Not the truth, though.

The word the Tuesday Tales writers are using this week as our prompt is brand.  I had a bit of a challenge fitting it into my Regency era story, but I did it. 🙂

Be sure to check out the other tales here. 

Seated in his drawing room the next morning, Charles swung his crossed leg as he waited impatiently for George to show up. They would have to have a conversation about the evening before. It was a complete mystery to him why George would have him meet him there.

His butler opened the door. “Mr. Lockwood, the new wine casks have arrived. Would you like me to have them taken to the cellar or would you like to inspect them first?”

Charles stood, relieved to have a task to take his mind off the upcoming visit with George. Flicking his coattails, he said, “I’ll come and try a glass. Last time we ordered wine, it was not quite up to the quality I expect.”

“Yes, sir. I took the liberty of ordering from a different vintner this time for that very reason.”

“Good man.” Charles followed his butler to the receiving area near the back door. He didn’t usually venture to this part of his house, but he needed a distraction.

“I’ll draw off a taste for you, sir.” The butler snapped his fingers to the closest kitchen maid. “A cup for Mr. Lockwood.”

She passed a small pewter drinking cup to the butler as Charles used his right index finger to trace the brand burned into the wood showing the initials of the winery as well as the quality of the goods. It was one he did not recognize. “Where did you order this?”

“From Johnson & Justerini in St. James’s. This is a new winery they have started to do business with. I believe the Prince Regent ordered the same wine. At least that is what I was told. I hope it meets with your approval.”

“If Prinny likes it, who am I to say it is not wonderful.” From what he knew, the Prince Regent was a discerning drinker, so he was fairly confident this wine would be exceptional. “Although I am surprised he would use the same spirits merchant as his father. I thought they did not agree on anything.”

“Perhaps they have one thing in common.” The butler cracked a small smile as he handed the wine to his employer to try.

It’s time for Tuesday Tales.  This week, the authors of TT are writing to a photo. I’m still in my Regency Christmas story.

Check out the other Tales here. We’re limited to 300 words this week (mine is 301- oops!).

Horrified and in a panic, he looked over at George. “What have I done or said to make you think this was a place I’d want to visit?” Even with the warmth of the fire, Charles could feel his own heat rise. He needed to get out of here. Before someone noticed him.

George’s face probably reflected his own. The man appeared terrified and a flush rose up his cheeks. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I was mistaken. I beg your forgiveness and hope you’ll not discuss this with anyone. I know it’s a crime and I plead with you not to report me to the magistrate.”

“Even if I were inclined to do so, how would I explain my own presence here?” Charles pulled at his neck cloth. Is it getting hotter in here? “Be assured. Your secret is safe with me.”

Still curious why George would invite him here, Charles decided to slake his curiosity at a later time. Right now it was vital he make his escape. Immediately.

With one last longing look at the cozy fire before heading toward the door and the frigid streets, Charles said, “Please call round my home tomorrow to discuss this in detail.”

George paled. “So you’re going to report me after all?”

“No. I can’t afford to be seen here. Charles pulled on his overcoat. “Frankly, I’m shocked you’d take the risk yourself.”

Before George could say anything further, Charles moved as quickly as he dare toward the exit. Head down, he made it just as it opened, admitting several other men. They weren’t as well-dressed as Charles and he briefly wondered if they were there to cause trouble. He couldn’t afford to stay and find out.

Brushing past them, he kept his face averted and made it to the street.

This week, the authors of Tuesday Tales are writing to the prompt .  I am still working on my Regency Christmas story.

Check out the other tales here.

Once inside, Charles glanced around as he took off his overcoat. Little sprinkles of sleet hit the floor. He ran a hand through his hair and more of them fell. He was still chilled to the bone and grateful George found a table near the fire.

I wonder why he wanted to come here. I don’t see anything unusual about the place. George led him to where he’d placed his own coat.

As soon as they were both seated, a young man with an apron on approached. “What may I get for you gentlemen?”

Once they’d ordered—pints of ale for each—and the waiter left, Charles asked, “What’s so special about this place?” He peered around. It was hard to see as the alehouse seemed to be short some candles.

“Haven’t you noticed there are no women here?”

A bug crossed the scarred wooden tabletop.  Charles almost reached out and swatted it, but thought better of it. No use getting the grime on his hands. I certainly won’t choose to eat anything here.

“Most places like this don’t have woman patrons. I did notice there were no doxies outside waiting on men to come out and that the person who took our order is a man, but I cannot say I took particular note of it.” Charles cocked his head at George and frowned. “Is this somehow important?”

George’s face seemed flushed, but Charles couldn’t really tell in the dim light. It also could be because it was certainly warm near the fire.

Their ales arrived at that moment and George heaved a sigh.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Charles asked.

Taking a big gulp of his ale, George shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I made a mistake. Forgive me.”

Puzzled, Charles didn’t know what to say. What does George mean? Dragging me all the way across town and then telling me it doesn’t matter? “What game is this, my friend?”

“I apologize. I’ll pay for your hackney home.”

Still wondering why he’d been required to come all this way in the freezing cold, Charles sipped his tepid ale and let his gaze run around the room.

When he noticed two men at a table near the back door locked in an embrace, he looked over at George with his eyebrows raised in shocked understanding.

This week’s word for the authors of Tuesday Tales is bite.  I am still working on my Christmas Regency era story.

Check out the other tales here. 

The next morning dawned cold and sleety. Charles walked near the river to meet George for breakfast in a café near the waterfront. The bite of the wind off the Thames cut through his overcoat making him shiver. Rubbing his hands up and down on his sleeves, he wondered anew what was so important that George wanted to discuss at such a remote place. It wasn’t near anywhere their crowd usually went. Such a mystery.

As he hurried toward his destination, Charles muttered under his breath. “It was warm and cozy at home. Why did I agree to this?”

Shivering, he increased his pace, hoping they had a liter of hot beverages on tap ready to be served. Chilled to the bone, he wasn’t sure he could take much more of the cutting wind.

Finally he turned the corner and spotted George standing outside.

Charles dashed toward his friend, ready to take him to task over arranging this rendezvous so far from home and insisting he not bring his carriage. His friend had obviously lost his sanity. The temperature was too low for this nonsense.

George came toward him. “Come inside and warm up. I have a table near the fire.”

“I can’t understand why the secrecy, friend. You could’ve come to my home and we could have dined quietly and warmly without this trek across the cold city streets.”

“You’ll see why when we go in.”

Charles shrugged. He was here now. Might as well go inside. But he was most definitely calling for a hack to take him home from this escapade.