Sunday, November 13, 2011

Snippets of Story, as borrowed from Katie. ;)

          "Lisette approached the wing-chair near the fire and cleared her throat. A wan, pale hand beckoned her forward. Lisette took a seat on a low bench near the hearth and turned her eyes to her master. All the benefits of wealth and rank had wasted in the person of Cyril Delgrade. He possessed all the graces of beauty, talent, and wit in a perverted state, and Lisette despised him for it.
           His eyes, that, in another man and another life could have been warm and jovial, flicked with an unhealthy, fitful light. His chin, if tempered by an active life would have shown him to be a confident, reliable young man, but was instead set in a constant, defiant square. The figure, if encouraged ever so slightly, showed promise of being strong and supple, but under the influence of pampered illness had relaxed until Mr. Delgrade was nothing but a sculpture of what might have been, a portrait of dissipated youth and vitality."
              ~The Master of Delgrade Heath

       "Has the O'Talley vexed you again, shrew?"
        Lisette ignored the question put forth and turned to Cyril Delgrade. "I had heard you were a gentleman. I was also told this was a fine house. I see you are a liar as well."
        "Aha! This fire is warmer than that you stand by. Come, throw sparks at me and see if you can light any flame of indignation in this piece of kindling before you." Mr. Delgrade laughed, delighted at causing anyone to feel a sliver of the sourness plaguing his every moment. He motioned to Lisette to bring the bottle she held in her hand. "So you do not count Delgrade Heath a fine house? Tell me why, if you will, Miss Allenham."
        It was less a request and more a command, but Lisette poured the medicine into a spoon with a steady hand and held it forth. "Perhaps in form, the Heath may be considered fine. But everything in it is twisted and cold with no more heart to it than the stones it was hewn from. Yes, there is elegance, but no beauty. There is provision, but no comfort. It is less a home than some hovels I have entered."
          Mr. Delgrade lounged back in his chair, his midnight-blue smoking jacket a painful contrast against the pallor of his skin. "Ah, but she is sharp on you, Old Beauty," he said, casting his eyes about the room as if caressing a beloved pet. "Still, what care I if she thinks it is less than the slums she came from? Miss Allenham was not bred to fine tastes. We must forgive her for that." The Parthean shaft leaving his bow, Mr. Delgrade took the spoon from Lisette and swallowed the contents, then tossed it on the tray at his side. It clattered against the other accouterments of silver with a sound like tiny bells."
          ~The Master of Delgrade Heath

          "Excuse me Mr. Delgrade, but I must give you my professional opinion."
           "On what topic? My house? Ah, but I didn't know they were letting women into the bricklayer-departments these days. What is the world coming to?" The mouth curved again into a teasing smile, but the eyes were languid as ever.
           "I was only thinking what an improvement it would be for you to sit in the sunlight for an hour or two each morning. Stay in this tomb and you're like to turn into one of those newts or frogs I was reading to you about last week."
           Mr. Delgrade picked at the gold stitching on his cuff-sleeve and shook his head. "The blind leading the blind, eh?"
            "I am perfectly serious, Mr. Delgrade."
             "And seriousness does not become your face, Miss Allenham. You are not so pretty you can spoil what looks you have by frowning. Get along with the reading and we'll have done with it."
 ....       "Then you are wearied with the Encyclopedia too? Let us pretend I am your nurse on the literary field as well--I prescribe a daily dose of Shakespeare to vary the monotony."
             "Can't abide the man with his everlasting tragedies and poisons and daggers."
              "But he wrote comedies as well, you know."
               "He wrote nothing that could remotely amuse me, Miss Allenham."
                "Because you refuse to be amused, Mr. Delgrade."
                "Que Sera, Sera, Senorita."
             ~The Master of Delgrade Heath
I have given you quite a dose here of my Heath, and I hope you enjoyed it. :) I decided that this story shall be given my second youngest sister for Christmas, and she is not on the computer much, so it is safer to post a bit now and then about this latest Christmas Tale. What do you think of it so far?

3 comments:

Morgan said...

A very witty and enjoyable read:)

Anne-girl said...

It makes me want to find out what happens. I like the Cyril guy. he reminds me a bit of Steerforth or Mr. Rochester

Rachel Heffington said...

Thanks girls! Anne, Cyril Delgrade's personality is, I'll admit, patterned slightly off of Mr. Rochester's character...I have described the Heath to a friend as a combination of Bronte and Alcott. :) Thanks for your sweet comments!