I belong to two writers groups. One meets on the 3rd Monday of the month. I joined this group to meet with actual people and chat with other writers. Now we've gone online. Each month we have an "assignment". The theme to the monthly meeting. Usually I ignore the theme - we are allowed to - and I read parts of my dragon story. This month's theme - take a line from your favourite book and twist it. The piece may only be 750 words.
I don’t have a favourite book, but I have favourite authors.
The line I chose was taken from Dorothy
L. Sayers’ Gaudy Night. Harriet
Vane is a successful mystery writer. Miss Vane – as is Dorothy L. Sayers - is a
graduate of Oxford University – a rare accomplishment for a woman in 1915.
Harriet Vane sat at her writing table and stared out into
Mecklenburg Square. The sun shone through the trees, casting shadows on the
grass and the people strolling along the paths on a fine spring day. She leaned
forward, pushing the window open, hoping to catch the fragrance of fresh grass
or flowers. The cheery call of a songbird, mixed with the laughter of children,
floated into her room. Nannies pushed their perambulators while some stood in
groups, getting caught up on the gossip of the day. Not that it was any sort of
an unusual day, May 23, 1935.
Just a day.
Just an ordinary day.
Harriet turned her attention from the outside to the
interior of her flat. Her tea needed refreshing. She pressed the brown button
on the wall to her left.
A moment later, the door opened. Properly attired, Lettice,
her housekeeper, entered and respectfully waited.
Harriet weakly waved in the tea tray’s direction. “A fresh
pot, please. And I am feeling a tad peckish. Maybe a muffin or seed cake?”
Lettice smiled. “Oh, yes, Ma’am. I’ve just got back from the
baker. ‘e made poppy seed muffins fresh this very mornin’, ‘e did.” She crossed
the multi-coloured rug as softly and quietly as a cat. “Would there be anything
else, Ma’am?”
“Yes. Lady Windermere has accepted my invitation to tea.”
Harriet lifted the correspondence from the top of the midmorning post. “Please
make suitable arrangements. The parlour should be quite lovely this afternoon. I
believe she will be bringing her corgi, Hamish.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Picking up the silver tea tray, Lettice exited
as stealthily as she’d entered.
The blast of a horn blew in through the open window. Harriet
returned her attention to the goings-on in the square below. The groups of
nannies were no longer cluttered under the shade of the oaks. The paths were
empty except for a few pedestrians. Businessmen out doing a tour of the gardens
during their lunch break. Or, possibly a lawyer, taking a moment from the stress
of the office to have a quiet meander and a chance to ponder some tricky point
of law.
Such a promenade would be a delight. Harriet glanced at the
small timepiece on her writing table. There was time. Still several hours
until… She sighed. No, she had correspondence she must see to before the next
post.
Lettice knocked, entered, then placed a fresh cup of tea
next to Harriet’s timepiece. She put a small plate, decorated with yellow roses
and with a delicious looking muffin, next to the steaming tea.
Distractedly, Harriet murmured, “Thank you,” as she pulled a
sheet of crisp writing paper from her drawer. Forty-five minutes later, Harriet
sealed the last letter, stood and walked to the hallway. “Lettice.”
“Ma’am?” The housekeeper exited the parlour and bobbed a
small curtsey.
“I will take these letters to the post then I may stroll
about the park for a bit. It is such a fine day.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
The hush of the gardens settled around Harriet. The firmness
of the path morphed to a softer footing whenever she stepped closer to inhale
the fragrance of a flower. She had spent many hours watching the gardeners
tending to the beds. Their skills evident in the explosion of colours that lay
before her.
She continued along the pathway. Nodding to a bobby who’d
saluted her with a smart tap of his billy club on the brim of his helmet. A
squirrel paused halfway down the trunk of a Beech tree. He… Harriet presumed it
to be a he… flicked his tail, turned, then bolted back up to the closet branch
where he chatted at her until she had moved a safe distance away.
Those were the only disruptions to her serenity. She paused
at the south exit, then turned. One last glance back.
A memory.
The church bell sounded the stroke of four. Harriet shivered.
A roar, sounding as if the world was being ripped in half,
filled the air as blackness eclipsed the sun. Gale force winds smashed against
the trees. Their leaves, ripped free, whirling about.
A mighty metallic craft settled on the ground, crushing
every living thing in the square. Cars and trolleys skidded to a stop. Horns
blared. People screamed. Children cried.
A dog howled.
Harriet tilted back her head and released a cackle. She
peeled off the Harriet skin she’d hidden in for decades. Inhaling and releasing
a joyful breath, she stretched tall.
The invasion had begun.
Mecklenburg Square did exist at that time. I saw a map but don't have copyright permission to print it.
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