Not Your Typical Lady

THE END OF THE MARTIANS

Sun, 17 May 2009 22:39:04 GMT

Sunday we woke up very late and very tired after the great time spent on the Springtime on Paris ball, and even if I had planned to return to Babbage Square right after the ball, finally we didn't do it till Monday.

Nelly and I reached The Excelsior Hotel and noticed the excitement around. Reporters, adventurers and militia were running around, talking out loud. We walked through the crowd till reaching the desk.

"What happened?" I asked the receptionist.

"Oh, Ma'am! Don't you hear it? The Martians are dead!"

I left Nelly dealing with the luggage and rented a cabby to New Babbage, still dressed on the male attire I had used on the ship and smelling like salt from the trip. We reached the spot in record time and when I stepped down the cabby and approached the place where the church had stood before been hit by the aliens, a weird spectacle greeted me: the Martians, the biger and the small ones, lied on the floor over pools of some white liquid.

I got closer very slowly and with care, my small but reliable Derringer hiding on the upper part of my right traveling boot. The Martians were very still, as they were all time, but now, no sound or light was coming from them. They were like... broken!

I walked around the place till I was sure there was no danger and then I got closer to one of the big ones. I knelt behind it, took out my glove and touched the white liquid that seemed to drip from all the holes on the mechanical structure of the Martians. I smelled it, frowned and then tasted it from the tip of my finger.

"It's milk!" I couldn't help to exclaim out loud.

I stood and circled the weird building the Martians had been working on. Just then I started to notice the empty glass bottles scattered here and there, the metal churn lying on the floor near the Martians... Then, when I turned around the building, I found a little weird man lying under a ragged quilt, surrounded by death aliens and empty milk bottles. He was sleeping very soundly and didn't wake up even when I tried to break his sleep.

"No point on trying!" said a male voice not far away. "He's a little.... mmm... intoxicated by the action."

I got closer the sleeping man and smelt the alcohol on him. I stood up and turned around. A man, stocky and bald, was walking toward us. His manners were friendly enough for me not taking out the Derringer. The man was dressed as a longshoreman and had a big moustache and long whiskers. He stopped near me and sized me up, my manly coat confusing him.

"Are you a reporter?" asked him in a thick accent.

"More like a writer, sir," answered I honestly. I got even closer and held my hand out to him. "I'm Alexxandria McLaglen, from Victoriana."

He grabbed my hand and shook it instead kissing it. I liked his style.

"I'm Greg Merryman, ma'am. I'm the owner of that rental store you can see over there. I build and sell ships. If I can be of any help to you..."

I looked around the place, taking a look on the immobile Martians.

"Well, Mr Merryman, I've spent a week on New Babbage trying to find what those things were, and just when I took two days off, all changed. Do you know what happened?"

He nodded slowly and, with a big sigh, said:

"I was here... saw the whole thing. From the beginning to the end."

I took out a notebook and a pencil from the pockets of my coat. He arched an eyebrow and chuckled.

"Are you going to use my words for your article, Ma'am? Very well, then, I will tell you all I saw."

Then, he started to talk very fast, in his slangish English that I registered the best I could on my notebook.

"About a week ago, the church across the street and down a bit was hit by what we thought was a meteor. Sounded like a train! Demolished the whole thing. Then, a day or two later the "meteors" came crawling out. They went of a walkabout checking things out. Everything was ok at this point. Then, a few days later.... they had these heat rays and they started blasting everything in sight. They tore up my building on the far side of the canals pretty good. They rampaged around a bit."

"But what were they looking for?" I had to ask.

"No idea, Ma'am. Some of our residents got nervous and shot at them. They tried guns, cannons, you name it... Never even scratched those Martians one bit. We all took turns standing guard, but really we couldn't do anything."

"I noticedthey were building something..."

"Oh, yeah... no idea what that's about..." He looked confused for a moment, scratched her bald head looking at the bell-like building and kept talking. "Anyway, the thing is Mr Tenk here," and he pointed to the sleeping man, "apparently stood guard by lying down and drinking milk. Just yesterday, he spilled his sour milk (he has a bit of a drinking problem it seems) and the sour milk killed those Martians dead."

I stopped taking notes and looked up to Mr Merryman, who was touching her whiskers in an absent way.

"Wait, wait!" I exclaimed. "Are you telling it was the milk what killed the Martians?????"

He nodded very seriously.

"Yes, ma'm I am at that."

I looked down to my notes, puzzled.

"Well... that's really... unexpected..."

"I know... it seems crazy. But my hand to god it's the truth!"

I frowned a little.

"But... I remember someone telling me one of the little crabs ran away the first day..."

Mr Merryman nodded again, he too looking worried.

"Well that could be..." He seemed to remember something and added, "I think one fella was trying to study one, too... but have not heard a Martian peep all day..."

"Did you know the name of that... mmm.... fella?"

"Naw.... I'm not too good with names. Kaylee may remember tho"

"Kaylee, sir?"

"Kaylee Frye... she owns the land there where they landed."

I took note of the name, planning to talk with her if possible. Then, I pointed to the sleeping man with my pencil.

"Do you think Mr Tenk will be... mmmm... sober enough to answer some of my questions, Mr Merryman?"

He shrugged.

"Well, he has been sleeping for a while, and probably he will keep doing it till the night." He shook his head, somehow sadly, and added, "nobody said nothin' about his drinking during the election..."

I looked up to him again.

"Eeeer... election?"

Mr Merryman smiled.

"Of course! Mr Tenk is New Babbage Mayor..."

I looked to the snoring man surrounded by death Martians and milk and couldn't believe he could had any kind of responsibility on world beyond sleeping. Finally I returned my attention to Mr Merryman, who was looking at me with a funny smile, as if he could read my thoughts and could understand my doubts about Mr Tenk.

"What really annoys me..." I said to hide my embarrassment, "is what the Martians come here for? And, even more important, are they all destroyed?"

"Well, most of them, anyway," answered Mr Merryman. "And now we know how to kill them." He looked around and added, "I think they just crash-landed here. Maybe they wanted some humans to study, or maybe they were building a ship to go away. The only thing sure is they are dead... at last, those ones are dead. If they will return, only future will say. But we will wait for them with our cows ready!"

I chatted a little more with good Mr Merryman and returned to the Hotel to write down what had been told to me. Latter that day I tried to contact Mr Tenk, but he was not available... meaning no one knew exactly where was he sleeping. Nelly and I stayed on The Excelsior for two days more, trying to find the weird Mayor, but I couldn't locate him. People gathered because the landing started to go away. No one tried to remove the dead Martians, but now and then someone would go there and would spilt more milk over them. New Babbage people seemed to be able to live with it with no worries, so finally I gave up to Nelly's pleads and packed my things to return home.

The adventure had ended.

At least, for now!

DANCING IN PARIS

Mon, 11 May 2009 14:20:47 GMT

I didn’t sleep Friday’s night. I came straight from the Martian settle to The Excelsior in time to help Nelly to send our trunks to the Port Babbage. I had booked two tickets in the fastest steam ship to Calais. Nelly and I took it first hour in the morning and I slept the entire trip, soundly. We reached Calais at evening and travelled on the night train to Paris. It was almost 5 on the morning when we finally fell into bed and sleep to be awakened by the French hotel staff for lunch.

Over lunch at the hotel, Mr Morton Morigi, neighbour from Victoriana, approached my table and asked me, very gentlemanlike, if I would let him escort me around Paris. I was having lunch with Ms Panacea Luminos, and she hided a smile behind her napkin when Mr Morigi did his gallant offer. I had met Mr Morigi just days before departing to Paris, and found him very intelligent and gentle, so I accepted his offer.

After lunch Nelly, who had finally chosen a lovely green afternoon gown to walk by the Champs-Élysées, departed to them after helping me with my own gown, an absolutely lovely creation in pink and black by Ms Demure. I left my room and found Mr Morigi waiting for me in the lobby, very smart dressed in his afternoon grey suit. We walked together till the Champ-de-Mars, where the great tower stood in all its iron glory as exceptional scene for the Springtime in Paris’s ball. The Parisians, in their lovely extravagance, had put a gigantic bullseye on the floor and you could jump from the top of the tower and try to fall on the centre of the target.

The Champs were packed with Victorianans and Parisians, and we walked between the crowd, bowing to acquaintances, enjoying the cute vending carts and the refreshments disposed around the tower. Mr Morigi offered his arm to me and seemed proud to be seen with me at his side.

We enjoyed the sunset from the second floor of the tower, a very romantic view over the city. At 9 we returned to the hotel to get ready for the ball and, again, I enjoyed Mr Morigi’s company to the tower, that time on an opened carriage for the sake of property. The dance ball took place just beneath the Eiffel’s structure. The most famous French singers performed from the stage as Victoriana’s elegant citizens waltzed around in their finest gowns and suits. The Mayor was wearing a baroque white suit that made him look as a prince, as Ms Luminos started the night dressed as the most lovely mime to end wearing a beautiful ball gown. She acted as the hostess of the party, and arranged the auction for The Victorian Estate, a great building donated by Ms Koshari Mahana of Four Winds Buildings , in support of Autism Awareness and Support. The auction bidding was fierce and finally was won by Mr Steadman Kondor, our fearless editor of the Victoriana Times , after paying 9,888 for it. What will he be planning to do with such a building? A new publishing house? Other ball attendess added to the donations and the evening total raised for Autism Support was over $L35 thousand!

The ball was a great succeed, not only because the money raised for the AAS but because it was a party to remember forever! The lights, the music, the romantic environment, the nice people gathered there… I danced for hours between Mr Minogi’s arms, enjoying it as if I was a young debutante again. Mr Minogi left the party before the end (he was called upon a very important issue, he told me, distressed to let me alone in the floor) and he asked me to see him to the exit. I did it and, taking my hands between his, Mr Morigi asked me if it could be proper to visit me once we returned to Victoriana. I felt reluctant to accept it, because my “fiasco” with Mr W was still too fresh for me, but Mr Morigi assure me he would never pressure me in any subject.

“I just want to spend more time with you, ma’am…”

I nodded, surprised by his kindness, and he squeezed my gloved hand one more time before letting me go. I returned to the dance floor where my neighbour, Mr Wilkinson, noticing my confusion, offered me his arm and lead me to the floor for a waltz.
Dancing with Mr Morton Morigi
It really was a very good night, and when I finally returned to the hotel, I spent almost and hour answering Nelly’s questions about the place and the people gathered. She wanted to know all the details about the ladies’ frocks while she brushed my hair, and I obliged till I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I fell finally sleep with a smile in my lips. And we still had to return to New Babbage for the Martian's adventure! Life was good... really good.

LAST NEWS!!!

Fri, 08 May 2009 13:29:19 GMT

Thursday I was still in The Excelsior Hotel in Babbage Square, to Nelly's desperation. I went to the Martian's settlement and found that... they were building!!!

Is like some kind of... big bell? I couldn't say for good... looks so weird... Is like if they were building another crab... a big one... or, could it be a nest, maybe, for their breed...? A mechanical breed!?

I took a closer look and found more little crabs around the weird bell. I counted 3. For some reason, they seemed even more threatening to me than the big one... They could reach us, enter our houses without us seeing them...

And what the hell were they building?????

MARTIANS BETWEEN US!!!

Fri, 08 May 2009 12:52:29 GMT

We enjoyed from a very good weather on our trip to Paris, and had the opportunity to walk the deck almost all day. Poor Nelly gets seasick easily, so she stayed down at our cabin most of the time. As the ship was packed with Victoriana’s neighbours, I could be by myself, surrounded by kind neighbours, without fearing to fall into impropriety.

Just one day was left to arrive to Calais when the ship docked in Port Babbage. While the crew loaded some goods, the passengers were allowed to disembark. Nelly was so desperate for leaving the ship I went with her to walk the port avenue.

It was there where we heard the small newspaper boy shouting:

“EXTRA! EXTRA! Martians landed in New Babbage! Are they a threat to us??? EXTRA! EXTRA!”

I stopped him and bought a newspaper, reading the news absolutely stunned. It seemed some weird machines had landed over an old church near New Babbage’s canals, reducing it to ruins! A grey and white picture showed some crab-like metallic figures, tall as buildings, hovering over a crate near some warehouses.

“Ma’am… “ I heard Nelly said, probably afraid of the sparkling on my eyes.

“It’s incredible…”

“Ma’am, we should return to the ship…”

She knows me too well. By the time I ended the reading, I had already done my maths. It was Wednesday, just a day away from Paris, less travelling in a smaller, faster ship than the cruiser…

“Ma’am!”

I could take a look into the Martian settled, investigate around a little… even if I stayed one night, or two, I could been in Paris by Saturday morning, in time to get ready for the ball…

“Nelly,” I finally said, “We can’t miss that opportunity!”

“Oh, my…” muttered her. “Ma’am, you can’t really suggest…”
“Martians, Nelly! They are Martians!”

She looked at me for a long time and then sighed, defeat.

“I will see our luggage out for the ship, Ma’am,” she said, almost pouting.

“Excellent! And I will look for a cabby to take us to the nearest hotel!”

I ran away, leaving poor Nelly taking care of our trunks and suitcases. I felt a little bad for her missing two days of Parisian delights, but… they were Martians!

A cabby took us to The Excelsior Hotel in Babbage Square. The place was full packed with reporters, explorers and militia volunteers and only one room was left to rent. I took it and, the hotel staff dismay, assured them I didn’t mind sharing it with my maid. While some footmen arranged a bunk on a corner for Nelly, I opened a trunk and took out my dusty explorer attire and my loyal webley revolver. Nelly frowned at me.

“I didn’t pack that, Ma’am,” she pointed.

I smiled sheepishly.

“I did it… a lady never know when she will be on need of some comfy travelling trousers!”

I left Nelly muttering something about ladies never using trousers and went to rent a horse. Following some instructions, I arrived to New Babbage when the sun was already falling. The sigh that greeted me was stunning!

Giant, metallic crabs with 4 eyes remained immobile near a deep crate in the ground. Some other crab, the size of a big dog, seemed to be working on the crate. I found Ms Jules Artful riding around the place, and a Rabbit-Man militian, and the three of us examined the perimeter. The Rabbit-Man (I can’t recall his name) explained us the Martians had landed on Tuesday. Apart from the two biggest ones, two smaller where with them, and they went running. The big ones fried one of the little ones. The other one took off to the canals and the Babbage militia lost it there.

Since then, they had made no movement. The waiting was maddening. No one knew what they wanted, what they were doing there…

“Maybe they are feeding?” I offered.

People around me frowned.

“Feeding from what?”

I shrugged, lost for words.

From what, indeed?

We stayed there almost all night but they never move a bit. By morning, I returned to the hotel, where Nelly was snoring softly, and tuck myself in bed for a little nap before returning to the setting to do some more research.

That was, certainly, one of the biggest mysteries I had ever lay my eyes on it, and I was resolved to be there when finally the true would be revealed.

PARIS, THERE WE GO!!!

Tue, 05 May 2009 16:14:15 GMT

As all the good stories, this started with Higgins entering the library, holding the card tray for me.

“Ma’am, the postman brought a letter for you. From Paris…”

That picked my curiosity and I left my place by the fire to take the envelope. I looked for the sender.

“Is from Mr. Kondor”, I told Mr Higgins. “What is he doing in Paris?”

“Would Ma’am have a cup of tea while find it?”

I nodded absently and Higgins left the room while I sit by the bay window and opened the envelope. It wasn’t a very long one (Mr Kondor is a very busy man) but highly interesting.

April 19, 18XX
5 Rue du l'Abreuvoir, Montmartre, Paris

Dear Mrs Warburton,

I hope this letter finds you well and finally settled in your new home at Victoriana Lakeside.

The subject for this letter (and I beg you pardon for not talking at length about niceties, but a boy is waiting to take this letter to the post office, trying to catch the evening ship) is to invite you to a very interesting and maybe unique event! Next Saturday May 9, Paris celebrates the inauguration of the Eiffel Tower! The most famous reporters and writers will be here to witness such a historical moment! And I think you would like to take part on it, Ma’am!

Mayor Lindsay is floating a ship for all Victorianans to come to Paris due the City of Lights has named Victoriana guest nation. There are a lot of acts arranged: games, competitions, refreshments, the Paris Flea Market and a final, great ball. The party, called
Springtime in Paris, is mean to be one of the greatest events ever known in Paris. You can’t miss it!

Please, let me know your answer to this very address. And if you finally come, don’t forget to book a cabin on Victoriana’s cruise ship!

Your friend,

Steadman Kondor

I read the letter twice before finally calling Higgins back to the library. Between the two of us sorted my agenda for the two first weeks of May and decided the needed arrangements fro the travel. My butler sent young Thomas to the port to hire a cabin and I called Nelly for the most important detail: the dresses! I was going to need new gowns for such a special day, and I knew exactly where to find them.

I sent Nelly to Victoriana Harbour to arrange dates with two of my favourites couterieres: Ms Mau Delarosa, owner of Le Grenier du Château, and Ms Teaa Demina, now Mrs Bienenstich, owner of M’Lady Designs. I wanted one of the afternoons gowns by Ms Delarosa, “something gaily and colourful, very spring-like”, I instructed Nelly. And U had already in mind one of the spectaculars ball gowns of Mrs Bienenstich for the main event. A red gown, perfect for the luxurious and fancy Paris!

“And as you are coming with me, Nelly”, I said to my maid, “I think you should pick an afternoon dress for you, my dear. Is on me, of course. You cannot visit the Champ Elisées and the Eiffel tower dressed in black and white!”

Nelly beamed and went running to Harbour. I really hoped she wouldn’t pick a yellow one. Nelly was obsessed with the colour, even if it never suited her blond complexion.

The next two weeks passed quickly between the excitement of the arrangements and some other matters that would be subject for another entry. Finally, Monday, May 5 arrived and almost half Victoriana went to Harbour to take the cruiser to Paris, where we probably would meet the other half. Trunks, hatboxes and suitcases where lowered to the hold while the crowd waved their goodbyes to the ones remaining in the city. Nelly and I joined them on the deck and stayed there while the ship left the safety of the Port and went to open sea. Only when Victoriana was just a dot in the horizon, we retired to our cabin to rest a little. We had a 3 days sea trip to endure before reaching Calais, where the train will take us to Paris with enough time to rest and do some tourism before the day of the party. With this wonderful thought on mind, we lied on our bunks and napped till tea time.

For full information about the Springtime in Paris Ball, please, visit The Victoriana Times.
And try to come to Paris with us this Saturday, May 9! You will never regret it!!

TIRATZO'S MAGIC GARDENS

Tue, 21 Apr 2009 20:10:25 GMT

One month had already passed since we moved to Lakeside when Easter arrived. As we we’re still exhausted from the moving, I decided to stay at home instead travelling to Spain to assist my grandmother on the religious events, as it had been my habit since my husband passed away. Of course, my grandmother, the rigid Countess wrote me a hard letter about the real catholic obligations, adding, as was expecting, a note blaming my parents for my lack or religious education. I could had answered back I knew a lot about gods, mostly Egyptian gods after spending half of my life in Cairo, but decided against it: my grandmother, her God blessed her, had no humour sense.

I had no further plans for Easter than relaxing at my gardens or ride around Victoriana, but then I received a letter from my good friend, Lady Abigail Raymaker-Palowakski. She and her wife, Lady Amber Palowakski, Baroness of Bauerhoff, had brought a property at Victoriana Carnivale and settled there their ancient manor. I was invited over for tea and accepted happily.
Bauerhoff Manor seen from the sea.

I spent long hour at Abi’s house, enjoying the relaxing charm of their private beach, feeding the seagulls and chatting about old acquaintances. The two of us felt as Caledonians exiled and joked about it.

Easter Monday I took the train to Carnivale again, wishing to visit Abi again, but as I had not sent a previous calling card, I found the house empty. I was about to return to the station when I go caught by the sight of the beautiful gardens beside my friends property. I couldn’t resist myself and seeing a gardener near the hedged arch of the entrance, I called him and asked if I could visit the gardens. Lucky for me, they were open to the public, and I wandered around, enjoying the beauty of the place, the perfectly designed planters, the romantic gazebo…
Tiratzo’s gardens.

After spending an hour in such a special place, I called the gardener again and asked him to give my calling card to the owners, with a little note thanking them for letting me visit their gardens.

I was about to go for a final walk when a very elegant couple approached me from the house.

“Mrs Warburton?” asked the lady, her voice soft and charming as a bell. She had her hand extended to me and, when I took it, she nodded graciously, adding. “I’m Mrs Tiratzo. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Would you like to have a refreshment with us?”

She had not ended this sentence when a maid appeared bringing a pitcher of iced lemonade and three tall glasses.

Mrs Tiratzo introduced me to her husband who bowed gently and helped the both of use to sit around the garden table. The maid served the lemonade and we chatted friendly. Mrs Tiratzo’s kindness and elegance won me, and when she told me they had 29 children I couldn’t believe such a delicate lady could had given birth to them! She hurried to explain most of them were adopted, some from her first marriage; others were Mr Tiratzo’s children. They had been recently blessed with a last daughter, and I had the pleasure to meet the little baby.

After the pleasant meeting they invited me to the official opening of Tiratzo’s gardens , that was scheduled that very same afternoon. I accepted and returned to Lakeside to take a nap before getting dressed again for the event. And what a wonderful afternoon we had, hunting white roses, dancing on the gazebo! The Tiratzo family acted as the perfect hosts and even the children showed their best manners.

When I finally retired home, I was determined to visit Mrs Tiratzo again. We should have a weekly tea for ladies!!

A BRIEF BIOGRAPHY

Sun, 19 Apr 2009 12:25:36 GMT

As requested (yes, one person asked for it!), I'm posting here my biography, since I was born to the moment I married and went to Caledon. The rest of my life since then is posted chronology in this diary. If you're curious, you just need to browse down!

ALEXXANDRIA McLAGLEN-WARBURTON

Born from a proud Scottish gentleman and a wild Spanish countess, Alexxandria was raised on a home where freedom, knowledge and equality were not a utopia but a reality. She was the youngest of five children, and his parents had four boys when she finally arrive, but she never was left apart for being a girl.

She learned to read and to appreciate books; she loved the classics, history and books about travels and adventures. She was taught to sing, play piano and draw like every lady must do, but she learned to ride, shoot, swing and gambler too with identical enthusiasm.

She first travelled to Egypt at fourteen, where her parents directed an archaeological site on Luxor and a museum for the British Crown. She fell in love with the Pyramids and the desert that first summer and refused to return to England. She lived in Cairo for four years, learning the language and their customs and everything relative to the history of Egypt. At eighteen, her parents sent her with two of her brothers to travel around Europe because they wanted their children knowing better the classic culture. They lived in Rome and Paris, visited Istanbul and Switzerland and finally settled in Barcelona, where their mother's family lived. There, Alexxandria was introduced into high society and learned everything necessary to survive its intrigues. But at 23, she run away when her grandmother began to plot a marriage of convenience for her, and returned to Cairo, where she worked with her parents at their site on Luxor and in the museum they had founded in Cairo.

While other women her age were getting married and having children, Alexx followed the Nile's to the Victoria Falls, explored ancient tombs and travelled through the desert with the Tuareg's tribes.

But when she was 26 something changed. Some German men visited Cairo, asking for a new tomb no one knew about. They asked her parents for help, but they refused, and days later their house got burned. After that, Alexx was sent to England to report Her Majesty's Secret Service about the German presence in Cairo, and returned with two agents, ready to find the requested tomb and solve the mystery. And she did it. But, of course, the details of this adventure are top secret.

After that, Alexx's services were frequently requested and she took part in some of the greatest adventures of the Victorian age... Till on the course of a mission she met a tall, dark haired, handsome scientific that changed her life. He worked for the Crown too and was sent to India, where rumours said stranger things were happening in the fields near Delhi. They were talking about magic, wizards and sprits fighting against the British control, and the Crown Agent must find the truth about it. Alexx was sent there to help him with the language and her knowledge about India. They had to sham being a young couple enjoying their honeymoon on the British colony while finding the source of the problem.

The first time Moriarty Warburton saw Alexxandria he thought it was a joke. How such a little woman could help him? She would be a nuisance, not a help! But soon she showed him her value, and together found the man leading the revolt, exposed his tricks and ended the complot.

When the time to return to London arrived, Moriarty asked her to marry him. She refused because she thought he had ancient ideas about the place of women in society. But Moriarty was a persistent man and spent a year following her around the world, showing her he respected her. After that, and due she was madly in love with the sometimes serious, sometimes naughty scientific, she married him and together they travelled and enjoyed a lot of adventures... till they decided to settle, buy a house in the beautiful Caledon Cay and try to build a family. Sometimes, they accepted some secret missions and you could see them leaving their home with travel bags and returning wearing dusty clothes and shoes.

ADVENTURES BY THE LAKE. Part II

Tue, 14 Apr 2009 15:28:18 GMT

Darkness surrounded me.

I heard Nelly calling me from upstairs and the sound of her running. I fell to my knees and patted the floor, searching for the candle with trembling hands.

Suddenly a light shone and I looked up with fear to find… Ms Luminos! She was holding an oil lamp and wearing what seemed a sailor raincoat with the hood over her brown curls.

“Mrs Warburton?” asked her, surprised.

“Oh, my, Ms Luminos! You really scared me…!ª

A banshee like scream made us turn around in time to see Nelly flying stairs down with a fierce look in her face and brandishing some kind of long metal tube over her head.

“Leave her alone!”

“Wait, Nelly, wait! Is Ms Luminos!”

My brave maid stopped and the tube fell to the floor. I recognised it as a stovepipe and made a mental note to pay for it to the owner of the house, whoever he or her was. I smiled to Nelly when she came to help me stand up. She was trembling as a leaf, didn’t know if because the fear or the adrenalines rush, so I hugged her tightly and comforted her. My loyal, brave Nelly!

When we finally calmed down, Mr Luminos asked:

“What are you doing here, Mrs Warburton?”

“We came to the lake for a picnic day and the storm caught us by surprise. We got lost and this was the only house open. It’s yours, Ms Luminos?”

She shook her head no.

“This house and the woods surrounding it belongs to the il Marchese di Monterosi, an Italian marquis that arrived to Victoriana half century ago, when he was young. He made built this house for his beloved wife. Sadly, she died on the trip from Italy and never came to see the property. Il Marchese closed the house and retired to the county to live in solitude. No one has ever live in this house. Some years ago the care keeper of the property died and the lawyer of il Marchese gave me the keys if never something happened. I have a cottage at the other side of the lake, so I can come to show the property to any possible buyer.”
The house seen from the park

That bit of information picked my interest.

“Oh! Is the house for sold?”

Ms Luminos shrugged.

“More or less. Till now, the few people interested on it thought the trouble of remodelling it too much or didn’t pass il Marchese’s exam. He wants to sell it but… I don’t know… he seems to be looking for a special person to buy it…”

Suddenly Ms Luminos seemed to notice our appearance ad rushed over us.

“But don’t stay here like that, Mrs Warburton! You’re going to be sick by the morning if you two don’t get warm! Come with me to the library, we will light a fire there. I think I saw some quilts into one of the maid’s closets…”

Not even twenty minutes after that, we were sitting on some dusty chairs in front of a fire, on our undergarments, wrapped on blankets. The library was an amazing room filled with empty shelves. A big bay window opened over the sea and we could see the lightings falling from the sky to the waters. Near a big oak there was a pier where a little sailboat was fighting against the fierce waves. Ms Luminos explained she was out sailing from Hedgemaze to Lakeside when the storm caught her. She docked her sailboat on that pier and ran towards the house. We had reached it by the most difficult side, through the woods that adjoin the part of the lake that opens to the sea.

Nelly took out the rest of our lunch from the picnic basket and the three of us ate while waiting for the storm to pass. I took advantage of the situation and asked Ms Luminos about the property. She was kind enough to answer all my questions, and when our clothes were finally dry and the dark storm gave up to a light raining, we toured the house. Once all the windows open, the sight of the rooms made me fall in love with them. Wide rooms, ornate fireplaces, bay windows opening to spectacular landscaping, artistic murals that imitated the Italian Renaissance and an open gallery over the sea. When the rain finally stopped and the sun shone again, its rays were like golden drops over the seawaters. We saw a neglected garden on the front yard and the wild forest at the furthest side of the property. The rays of sun danced between the leaves, drawing capricious patterns over the mud and moss under the trees. Ms Luminos took us to the entrance of that secluded park and pointed a hidden little fountain between the trees.

“It’s like an enchanted place” did she say with a sigh. “I’ve always thought it was a pity no one could enjoy it…”

I did not say a word, but when we finally returned to the inn and after a warm bath, I wrote a letter to Mr Quentin Southern, my lawyer, and asked him to contact il Marchese.

I had fell in love with the number 2 of Randwick Court .

A week passed before I was summoned at li marchese’s lawyer’s office in Victoriana Square. I attended the meeting with Mr Southern, and when we entered the elegant office we were quiet surprised to be introduced to il Marchese himself. He was an old gentleman, thin as a reed, with olive complexion and untamed white hair. The marquis was sitting on a winged loveseat by the fire, with both hands on the handle of his walking stick.

His lawyer introduces us to il Marchese. Mr Southern bowed to the old man and I did a gracious curtsy, happy to be wearing one of my finest mourning gowns. When I looked up again, il Marchese was sizing me up.

“Are you the widow?” asked the gentleman in a thick Italian accent.

Mr Southern cough, uneasy by il Marchese rudeness, but I didn’t even blink at it.

“Yes, Your Grace, I am.”

“Did you love your husband?”

“Your Grace, I don’t think…”

I cut Mr Southern’s protests just by answering:

“Yes, Your Grace, I loved him very much.”

Il Marchese gazed me with his piercing black eyes and then, without warning, stood up with an agility I had never guessed on him.

“Sell her the property” he said.

And walked out the office.

By the end of the day, the number 2 of Randwick Court was mine and I sent a letter to Mr Higgins to make any arrange necessary to close the Caledonian house and come to Victoriana to help me make the new home habitable.

I rented a town house to Ms Luminos for my servants and I while the house was being remodelled, and for two long, exhausting months, I supervised the cleaning, rebuilding and repainting of the house, being very careful to leave the old murals like they were. A new main garden was designed and the wild forest was cleaned and tamed into an intimated, secluded park that invited to walk in peace.

When all was ready, I returned to Caledon Cay to supervise the moving. All our belongings were packed with great care and sent to Victoriana, first the most necessary for the every day living, then the rest. The horses were accommodated into Victoriana Riding Academy on Lakeside under the watching sight of Thomas, and finally, one morning, we left definitively the Cay and took possession of our new home in Victoriana Lakeside.
The house and it's new garden

It was the end of an age.

It was the beginning of a new life.

ADVENTURES BY THE LAKE. Part I

Mon, 06 Apr 2009 17:26:58 GMT

Two weeks had passed since Nelly and I had arrived to The Victorian Queen in Victoriana Hedgemaze, and I couldn’t recall a moment in the past months I had felt so relaxed and… happy!

I spent the mornings enjoying late breakfast at the gardens, engaged in nice conversations with the rest of guests. After that, I used to rest under the sun in the private beach, with my loyal Nelly as chaperone. The mornings were lazy as holiday mornings must be. After lunch, Nelly and I explored the city and its surroundings, visiting the pretty shops or having tea in some of the tea-roms around Victoriana. We were enthralled with the splendid maze and we made a good job letting us been seen walking along the Harbour avenue before sunset, returning to the inn in a rented hansom, giggling as teenagers without caring if the sun had put more freckles over my nose.

At evenings, I attended music soirees at the inn or card games at The Golden Harp. Long time ago I had been introduced to the Mayor of Victoriana, Mr LittleBlackDuck Lindsay, and Ms Luminos was kind enough to let him know I was staying at her inn. Once announced, I was pleased to receive an invitation to the Fox Hunt the Mayor hosts every month, and there I was introduced to some of the finest members of Victoriana’s society. After the hunting, calling cards reached my tray at the inn and I spent almost all afternoons visiting.

By the end of the second week I decided to enjoy a day out of social obligations. I discussed it with Nelly over our first cup of coffee at my suite and we decided to visit Victoriana’s Lake. Nelly asked for a picnic basket in the kitchen and we departed at 10 to the station.

The train took us to Victoriana Lakeside and we walked the short distance to the lake under a bright sun. Wide avenues surrounded the lake, opening now and then to well cared gardens. Big, stately houses rose at the end of the gardens’ paths and, finally, between the branches of the trees at the end of properties, the shinning waters of the lake could be spotted.
This wonderful picture was taken by Lady Abigail Raymaker

Nelly and I followed the path to the shore of the lake and sigh in awe at the beautiful sight that greeted us. The bluest waters, the green grass, the woods and roofs of the houses in the distance… some swans splashed near the shore while small sailboats were rocking gentily at the private piers.

“What a lovely place is it!” I exclaimed.

“Ma’am, all Victoriana is beautiful”, said Nelly, her pixie-like FACE relaxed Ander the sun.

“Yes, it is. A beautiful place, full of kina people…” I sighed. “I could stay here forever…”

“And why don’t you do that, Ma’am?”

I blinked at her suggestion and remained in silence as she spread out a blanket over the glass. We sat there, under the shadow of a tree, having tea and chicken sandwiches. Nelly produced her embroider work and asked me to read to her. I read aloud Mr Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher. Nelly love gothic tales.

I was reading:

It was, especially, upon retiring to bed late in the night of the seventh or eighth day after the placing of the lady Madeline within the donjon, that I experienced the full power of such feelings. Sleep came not near my couch—while the hours waned and waned away. I struggled to reason off the nervousness which had dominion over me. I endeavoured to believe that much, if not all of what I felt, was due to the bewildering influence of the gloomy furniture of the room—of the dark and tattered draperies, which, tortured into motion by the breath of a rising tempest, swayed fitfully to and fro upon the walls, and rustled uneasily about the decorations of the bed…

When suddenly a big drop of water fell over the page of the book. I looked up to find dark clouds covering the sky. Before I could warn Nelly, a thunder broke the clouds and the raining started. Nelly and I jumped, gathered all our things in a hurry and run towards the nearest houses.

The first gate we reached was closed and the house too far away for us to be seen, so we tried another one, and another, and when finally the oldest lock gave up under our strength, we ran through a very neglected garden till finding shelter under the roof of the porch.

Nelly banged on the door and called for someone to open, but we heard nothing in return. Finally we pushed together and the door got open. We stormed into the hall, wet as rats, shivering from cold. The hall, empty and dark, echoed our steps when we stepped into the house.

“Hello?” called I. “Someone’s there? Sorry to intrude, but the storm caught us by the lake…”

My words got lost in the empty house and Nelly and I shared a shrug.

“Seems to be deserted”, said Nelly, her teeth chattering from the call.

I sighed, hugging myself. The wetness of my gown was making me sick.

“We’ll try to find a fireplace and start a fire till the storm pass. We’re going to catch a cold if we don’t warm ourselves. Do we have matches on the basket?”

“Yes, Ma’am… and I… I think I spotted and old candle by the door…”

Trembling, Nelly returned to the door and only some seconds passed before a faint light shinned in the hall. Nelly came to my side and together we looked around the room house. It was so huge! And so old…! But even with the thick layer of dust and mug, I could appreciate the old tapestry hanging from the walls, the quality of the scarce furniture and the beauty of the rugs and curtains. I touched one and a cloud of dust almost suffocated us!

“Maybe it would be better not to touch a thing”, pointed Nelly between gasps, and I just nodded with tears on my eyes.

We reached a big, majestic stair and went up, slowly. The steps creaked but the staircase seemed solid enough. Old things were made to last. When we arrived to the first floor, we went through an arc and the sight caught my breath: a huge room decorated with Italian-like painted walls opened to a bay window. From there, we saw a flash of lightning falling from the sky to the sea, and I fell in love with the view and the walls and the gothic atmosphere.

Nelly wasn’t so enthralled with the experience.

“Ma’am”, she whispered, “I think I’ve hear something down the stairs…”

I took the candle and went to the stair. I was almost there when I noticed Nelly standing back.

“Come on! We still need to find a fireplace to light a fire. We’re going to get sick if don’t get rid of those wet clothes.”

“I’m sure up here should be a fireplace, somewhere around, Ma’am! I assure you I heard something in the hall!”

“We have more chances to find one in the dinning room. Come on, Nelly! There’s nothing down there, just the wind and the storm…”

“As in Mr Poe’s tale? Well, I think I will stay here, then!”

I sighed and gave up on her. Descending the stairs, I crossed the hall to the arcs that should open to a dinning room or maybe a morning room, any place where a fireplace would be found. My gloved hands touched the ivy that had grown up the walls, and I gasped when I felt litle spiders running over my fingers. I finally found a door and was about to open it when, suddenly, a cold hand touched my shoulder. I cried out of fear and turned around, dropping the candle to the floor when a dark figure hovered over me.

HOLIDAYS!!

Mon, 30 Mar 2009 15:22:27 GMT

"Madame, a parcel has arrived", announced Higgins.

I looked up from my work and sighed. By the look on Higgins face I knew what kind of parcel was. Even if I had announced the end of my engagement with Mr. Whybrow, I was still receiving old parcels sent before the breaking by loving friends that wanted to congratulate us with a present.

It was a sad job to return them. All the situation was sad. Mr. Whybrow had refused to even acknowledge my presence on the few times we had met in a party. He didn't even returned my greetings when our paths crossed in the middle of the street. It was a very awkward situation, and the worst of all was my friends were beginning to feel uneasy when inviting me to a dance and Mr Whybrow happened to be there too.

Looking around my house at the Cay, it was as if all had been done for a partner I don't have anymore: first my late husband, then Mr Whybrow.

I really needed a break.

I had visited my dear friend Abi in Edison Hypatia, looking for some peace, but the lovely country, even if beautiful beyond words, was too calm for me.

"Madame", said Higgins breaking my thoughts. I had forgotten about the parcel.

"Yes, Mr Higgins, bring it to me. Who sent it this time?"

"Mr Kondor, Madame."

I blinked in surprise. I had met Mr Steadman Kondor some time ago, when I first visited Victoriana. He's the editor of its newspaper, The Victoriana Times, and we had shared long and interesting professional conversations. Last time we talked I was pleased when he agreed to write a column about music and literature for The Strand.

I opened the parcel and I didn't find any engagement present but some issues of The Victoriana Times and some travel brochures. They talked about a new Circus and Fair open in Victoriana, about a great maze, the beach in Victoriana's Harbour and the opening of a luxurious Inn by the sea, The Victorian Queen. A beautifully handwritten note was attached to the information.

Dear Mrs Warburton,
I thought maybe you would need a port of call till your personal storm will pass.
Victoriana will greet you with open arms whenever you need us.
Yours sincerely,
Mr. Steadman Kondor.

For a long moment I sorted the brochures pondering about my options. Finally, I smiled and called Nelly, my maid.

"Yes, Ma'am?" asked the girl in her thick Irish accent.

"Nelly, I need you arranging my luggage. The smaller trunk and a hand suitcase will be enough. And prepare your things too."

Nelly is used to my sudden trips, so she didn't even hesitate.

"Where are we going, Ma'am? If you're going into another ship trip, I think Thomas would be most useful for you..."

Poor Nelly got seasick too easily.

"No ships this time, dear", I reassure her. "We're going to stay at The Victorian Queen Inn, in Victoriana, for 10 days, maybe 2 weeks, so I need my maid with me. Wouldn't be proper for a lady to be seen alone in an Inn..."

"That had never worried Ma'am before..."

"Maybe, but this is a new place and I would like to make a good first impression." I smiled to her and winked. "Go to do the luggage, dear, and call Thomas. I need him to deliver my calling card announcing my departure to my friends. We will depart tomorrow, so tell Doña Mercedes we will need some cold food for us to eat at the train."

Nelly curtsied to me briefly and went out in a rush while I took a stack of calling cards and proceeded to write on the back I was going to be out of town for a while.

First hour next day, while Nelly and I got into a carriage to Victorian Station, Mr Higgins took out the doorknocker for people to know I was out of town. I contemplated the Cay's landscape with mixed feelings. On one hand, I was sad to leave such a lovely place, even if for only a short time, because that time I was running away from memories and from my life at Caledon. On the other hand, I felt relieved leaving it back.

We spent more than half a day on the train and arrived to Victoriana Hedgemaze after sunset. Nelly and I were tired beyond words, and when we reached The Victorian Queen Inn the building looked as Paradise to us.

And it was that, in fact. The owner, Ms Panacea Luminos, was the kindest angel when greeting two exhausted travelers, and she sent our luggage to the best suite of the Inn, The Mayfair. Nelly was accommodated in the smaller room besides mine, and after a relaxing bath, Ms Luminos sent a maid with dinner for both of us. I dismissed Nelly right after dinner, the poor girl was so tired she almost dozed over the dessert! I undressed by myself and got into bed, enjoying the fresh, delicately perfumed sheets.

Next day arrived and Nelly brought me the first coffee of the morning, that we shared on the suite while discussing what we were to do at Victoriana.

"Relax", I decided, "that's what we need and that's what we will do. What do you think about a morning in the Inn's private beach? We could go for a walk around the maze after lunch..."

Nelly smiled, happy to be rid of her most heavy home duties. When traveling, she just has to look after my clothes and meals, and usually those things are taken care by hotel's staff, so my holidays are hers too.

While my maid was out to look after my breakfast arrangement, I took the time to write a longer letter to Abi to let her know where I was. Then, I wrote a note for Mr Kondor in return to his first one. Sitting by the window at an Antique Louis XV Bonheur Du Jour, I finally smiled, happy. I could see a light at the end of the tunnel, and that light shone over Victoriana!

SOCIAL LIFE vs HOMELY LIFE

Sun, 22 Mar 2009 21:47:56 GMT

The last two weeks had been busy and, in some way, stressful. Dozen of cards were sent to communicate the end of my engagement, and the same number of them was received in return. I was very relieved to find my friends and neighbours, even if sorry for the end of my relationship with Mr. Whybrow, were quick to add they would never judge me for my decision and ready to treat me as if nothing had happened. To prove it, invitations for dances and parties arrived to my card tray.

I remember with special warm feelings the impromptu inauguration dance at Ms Hypatia Callisto ’s local on Caledon On Sea, The Blue Mermaid, the first one I attended under the kind winds of Mr and Mrs Peccable. I enjoyed greatly a Card Night at Victoriana’s Social Club, The Golden Harp, hosted by the Mayor himself, Mr LittleBlackDuck Lindsay.

A concert in the spectacular gardens of Giverny Village, hosted by my very good friend Ms Soliel Snook , and the benefice dance for RFL hosted by Mr Avalanche in his Pirate Ship, were the last steps to put me back in society.
I was very grateful for it, but I can’t deny that, a the end of those two weeks, I was very tired; so after St Patick’s Day festivities I decided to remain at home.

I must confess is nice to wake up in the mornings not in a hurry, to drink a tea cup in my bedroom while dressing and finally having breakfast in the kitchen with my servants. That way I can discuss the day’s menu with Doña Mercedes, my cook, and the little problems around the property. There’s no need for formalities in my home and no time to lose either.

After that, I usually go to my studio, where I spend the morning attending the daily correspondence and all sort of matters concerning the business I inherited from my late husband. I had neglected them because I was too absorbed by Mr Whybrow’s attentions and now I feel guilty for it. Luckily, the household accounts are on Mr Higgins capable hands and never suffered my lack of free time.

After my husband's death, I could have dismissed Mr. Higgins, I didn't really need a butler and he had been at my husband's service. My house can easily be taken care with a cook, a maid and young Thomas for the stables and errands. But, of course, the thought of firing Higgins never entered my mind. He's family! So, when his duties were shortened by the absence of a master to serve, I passed over him the household accounting, something I had always hated to do anyway. Mr Higgins showed a great talent managing my homely finances, and his weekly reports are just a formality between us: I trust him blindly.

And that way, life at McLaglen’s Manor keeps going…

A NEW LIFE. Chapter 5: The End of the Dream

Tue, 10 Mar 2009 15:02:51 GMT

I’ve broken my engagement with Mr. Whybrow. For some months my many obligations took me out of Caledon once and once again. The Strand, my business in Rivet Town and some news about my late husband’s death details kept me in a constant trip. Mr. Whybrow tolerated that with great patience, but he showed his justified disappointment the few times we could met, as in the Second Grand Tour or in the Mar Degrass parade around Caledon. He was busy too with his jewellery business but he was able to find the time to spend with me.

I felt very guilty for putting my career before our relationship; I knew it wasn’t fair for him. He deserved a better fiancée, a woman that could appreciate his kindness, romanticism and, most important, a woman that has the required time and disposition to enjoy properly the kind of intense relationship Mr. Whybrow can offer.

I wasn’t that woman. After my husband’s death (an even over all our marriage) I was too used to be in charge of my life and to do my will. I’m too independent.

I explained all of this to Mr. Whybrow one morning in my study on Caledon Cay. He left my home truly disappointed. I obliged myself not to cry. I had no right to do it. I was the one breaking the engagement. Mr. Whybrow can blame it all on me, is only fair.

After his departure I knew I had to send notes to my parents and to all our friends, maybe return the presents they gave us for our engagement… but I felt too emotional for that, emotional and mad at myself for ruin such a great opportunity to be happy again. I went to my bedroom and changed my morning gown for some old trousers and shirt and my riding boots. The stable had become a refuge for me since I had begun to considerate the end of my engagement with Mr. Whybrow.

I was brushing Clover’s back, mind blank, my hands moving mechanically when I notice someone behind me. I turn around to find young Thomas standing there, head down, playing the hail with the tip of his boots.

“Ma’m,” he said, his voice deeper than possible in such a gangling, skinny body as his. “Mr. Whybrow… would he return soon?”

I sighed. Thomas had developed a great care for my former fiancé and I knew his lost would hurt the young boy.

“I’m afraid not, Tom,” I asked with total honesty. “I’m sorry, I know you were interested in the jewellery business…”

I didn’t know what to add. I’m sorry I took away from you the opportunity to have a surrogated father? One that wouldn’t beat you, that could had taught you a job, that could had been a good male role for you, something the bastard you had for real father failed to be?

I felt my throat closing and my eyes stung with unshed tears. My decision had affected my family and friends, and I asked myself if my career was worth it such distress.

Then, Thomas approached me, took another brush and started to pamper my mare with great caring.

“You know, ma’m?” he said with a smile, “jewellery is good, but maybe wasn’t for me. Too small pieces…”

I smiled to the boy with great affection.

“You will be whatever you’ll want to be, Thomas” I said, and I meant it.

His smile grown wide and brilliant and he tried to hide his blushing face behind Clover’s mane.

“Well,” he whispered, “They say journalist travel a lot and have very interesting lives… and I’m sure you would need a hand with The Strand when you will find a more suitable fiancé…”

I laughed, the first real laugh in weeks, and hugged Thomas tightly. I kissed his check and said:

“I will never find a more suitable fiancé. The perfect main is right here and, sadly, he’s only fifteen!”

He giggled, delighted, and retorted:

“And he likes men as much as you do, ma’m!”

I tickled him, happy beyond words. I still had a family that loved me unconditionally and that was really worth it all.

A NEW LIFE. Chapter 4: A ring can change it all

Mon, 16 Feb 2009 14:30:45 GMT

After releasing The Strand #3 the 22th of December, Nelly packed my trunk. I had been summoned to Cairo to spend the New Year with my parents and I had a 5 days ship trip ahead of me. I had said my farewells to Mr Whybrow the previous afternoon, sad to be away from him on Christmas time, but I knew how busy he was on this time of year, with a lot of orders to fulfil before the big parties of New Year.

Mr Whybrow has become one of the most famous jewellers around Caledon. The first thing that fuelled his fame was the brilliant Eternity Ring he made for me as a proof of our committed. Eternity Rings are very popular in Victorian times, and Mr Whybrow’s design includes the option of spelling the lover’s names with gemstones. A lot of couples asked for such rings as Christmas present, so Alastair had to shut himself up into his workshop to create them.

But his name achieved the popularity it has now after Fauve’s Fundraising Soire . Ms Aeon Fauve had asked Mr Whybrow to build an exclusive Elizabethan Necklace in order to have it auctioned December the 14th during the soiree she was hosting in Caledon Highlands in benefit of the Shakespeare Company. The necklace was so historically accurate, so detailed that its prize rose to 9.000L and Ms Magdalena Kamenev won it, being now the proud owner in exclusivity of such special jewel.

After the auction, special orders rained over Mr Whybrow’s desk, and his business grown so quickly he had to hire more shops to store his jewels. Now he has three shops: the original one, the yatch after the firm took its name, The Sparkle of Sound, is anchored in Caledon Sound; the second one opened in The Village, and the newest (and the biggest one) is sited in Caledon SouthEnd. For me it’s a little weird to visit this shops because my face is all around: Mr Whybrow got me as exclusive model for his jewellery. He insists in saying I’m half of the firm, and I’m very proud to put myself in display to help him!

Well, as I was writing, after releasing The Strand I got ready to travel to Egypt. The next day Tom drove our carriage to Port Caledon. I boarded the ship that should take me to Cairo, and followed the sailor that took my trunk to my cabin. When I entered after him, I almost cryed with joy: there, sitting by the peephole, awaited Mr Whybrow!

“Alastair!” shouted I, running to his arms the moment the sailor left the cabin. “I thought you were too busy…”

“I would never be so busy to leave you alone in Christmas” Alastair hugged me tightly and kisses my head. “I’ve closed the shops, and Thomas helped me last night with my luggage. I’ve arranged this cabin for the two of us and we will sit at the Captain’s table on Christmas.”

I looked around, suddenly shy.

“Are we… are we going to share the cabin? But… what my parents will think if they find it…?”

Alastair took a step back, smiling.

“I knew you would say something like that, so I’ve thought to put you at rest the only way it could be done.”

And suddenly he knelt down in front of me and took my hand.

“Honey, I love you. You have made me the happiest man in the world. You have become my muse and my partner, and the only thing that would make me even proudest would be if you accepted me as your husband. Alexxandria McLaglen, would you marry me?”

I was about to cry, so the only thing I could do was to nod yes. He then took away my Eternity ring and put in its place another one, a golden band with a single, perfect diamond: an engagement ring. Then, he put back the Eternity Ring, stood up and kissed me fiercely.

The trip was perfect, we enjoyed our time together, had Christmas dinner with the Captain and long walks around the deck, talking and enjoying the mutual company, doing plans for our future together. When we reached Cairo I introduce him to my parents. At first I was a little worried about how they could react to me being engaged, but they were very happy for me and welcomed Alastair to the family. My brothers were in Cairo too and they took my fiance with them to the desert in some kind of male-bounding ritual. They should had liked Alastair, because he returned from their trip in one piece!

We returned to Caledon January the 10th and made official our engagement to our closest friends. My cousin, Zombielady McLaglen and her husband, Mr Nerk Noonan, were the first to know about it, and Mr Noonan, a very talented portraiter, was so happy for us he made us a set of nice portraits as engagement gift. Now, one of them hangs over the fireplace in Caledon Cay!

A NEW LIFE. Chapter 3: Changes

Wed, 11 Feb 2009 12:25:57 GMT

One day, returning from one of the meetings of the Caledon Paranormal Society, hosted by Mr Jayleden Miles in Brigadoom, the weather changed suddenly. When Tom, my boy, drove our carriage into the Cay, dark clouds covered the sky, and only the flash of lightnings helped us to find our way to home. When I reached Warburton Manor, I found it even darker, and after descending the carriage I stood on the entrance of the property, feeling the rain over me, looking at the house with a sudden aversion.

Higgins came out running towards me with an umbrella.

"Madame! Enter the house, you will get sick under this rain!"

I looked at him and blinked.

"Higgins" -I said-, "can't you see the ghosts around the manor?"

My butler looked at me as if I was crazy, and then took a look around. No ghosts for him, of course, but they were very clear for me. Ghosts from a past life, a past marriage... a past I was leaving behind but that still seemed to be in the middle, holding me back.

"Madame...?"

I smiled to the old butler, took his arm and let him lead me to the house.

"Higgings, we need to do some changes around the property" - I told him-. "Call the architect. I think McLaglen Manor needs some new arrangements."

I saw Higgins trying to conceals a little smile.

"Yes, madame. I agree with you. McLaglen Manor needs to be built."

It was like a revelation for me. I needed to make the old Warburton's property my own, I kept seeing Moriarty around that house and I needed to get rid of all the memories if I wanted to have a future with Mr Whybrow. So, for a long time, my staff and I worked with the architect, stored furniture, bought new one, worked in the gardens, bought new land and, at the end, a new home was created.

Tom was delighted when Mr Whybrow asked for his help to built new stables for my mare, Clover, and Chieftain, his stallion. The time Mr Whybrow stayed around the house building the stables made him more appreciated by my staff, and they kept looking at him, then at me and nodding their aproval. I think young Tom adores him, looking to Mr Whybrow as an idol figure. Alastair told me the boy has been asking him more and more about his job as jeweller. I can see Mr Whybrow weighing up the possibilities to take Tom under his wing, and that makes me feel even prouder of the man I've chosen as my future live partner. Tom hasn't had an easy live, we took him in our house when his drunk father beat him to death after finding him fooling around with the preacher's son. Tom was 12 years old then. Now, at 15, still goes to swim with his shirt on to hid the scars of his back.

As a result of our hard work, now McLaglen Manor shines in the middle of the Cay as a little, cuttie house full of laughs and love.

"This garden would be a great place to put a working table..." -said Mr Whybrow with a hopefull look in his eyes.

"Yes, it would" -I smiled-. "Why don't you do it? That way Tom would be able to learn some things about your business..."

Mr Whybrow smiled too and kissed my hand. Now, he's part of the Cay too.

A NEW LIFE. Chapter 2: Coming out

Mon, 09 Feb 2009 15:53:55 GMT

December was a very busy month for me. Before Christmas I was absolutly inmersed on the makings of
The Strand Magazine #3: Xmas Edition, that was released some days before the 24th and was a hit thanks to the great writers who work for us. I'm very proud to announce Mr. Whybrow's tale, What the Dickens? was well received.

Now I think about it, it was a real miracle I was able to have the magazine in time, because Mr. Whybrow and I had had a very busy social agenda!

Soon after Mr Whybrow visited me in my home and told me about his feelings, we started to "go out" together more and more. When we attended Ms Bamika Easterman's Maid School's Formal Opening, Ms Easterman already noticed our closeness, but was discret enough to not mentioned it.

We weren't so "discret" when we attended the events of the Grand Tour. Oh, what an incredible time we had that weekend! It was the 22 and 23th of November, and even if we didn't attend Saturday's events, we spent all Sunday travelling around the Realm of the Roses and all the victorian nations, jumping from party to party.

First time we were spotted as a couple was in the Eynehallow Ball, in Giggleford, where Ms Soliel Snook welcomed Nessie with a great, funny dance.

Right after that, we attended the Celtic Forest Tea and Dance hosted by the charming Lady Amber Palowakski and her wife, a wonderful woman I have the honor to call my friend, Lady Abigail Raymaker. We had to hurry to be in time for the Waltz in Wunderbar Ballroom, the most exquisite place I've ever seen around the Victorian Nations, and ended with a brief dance in Antiquity.

When the Grand Tour ended, half Caledon knew Mr Whybrow was visiting me with more interest than the proper one a writer should profess for his editor. Because he's a gentleman, he finally made the first step and asked my permission to court me formally. Of course, I said "YES" (he's a jeweller, for God's Sake! *giggles*), but we weren't still ready to say anything aloud, and just smiled and eluded the questions about our relationship when they asked us in The Saint Nicholas Night Festival hosted in the Czech Historical Sim Czech Republic December the 5th, or in the Winter Formal Dance we attended the just the next day. It was hard for me not to show to the entery world the absolutly wonderful Eternity Ring Mr Whybrow made for me as a proof of his feelings. The ring has, in the best Victorian tradition, our names spelt on precious stones, and I can't stand not to wear it in my finger. It has become part of myself.

December the 7th we hosted the Caledon Cay Welcoming Party in my property. It was a Party to meet all the new Cay residents, and we, the older ones (Ms Summer Gildea, Mr Szondi, Ms Zombielady McLaglen and I) planned it for the sake of the neighbourhood. It was a great success and we were pleased to meet our new neighbours, as Mr Jorge Serapis, Ms Cleanslate or our French residents, Mr Dan Gervasi and her wife Bastienne. In the middle of the party, I rose to announce Mr Whybrow was courting me, and all them were delighted for the news... even if they had already seen him visiting my house at not so proper hours! (Mr Szondi even pointed he could swear he had seen "a shadow" descending the back side of my house at dawn some days *blush*).

After the party, we went to a concert in Ms Snook's gardens, and when we arrived we were ready to answer when people asked us about our closer relationship. And I was so proud to be by Mr Whybrow side nodding every time he said: "yes, Mrs Warburton has accepted my courting proposal...!"

A NEW LIFE. Chapter 1: A Blessed Fire

Wed, 10 Dec 2008 10:32:10 GMT

Oh, what a month! My head is still spinning and my heart beats so strongly sometimes I think it would explode from happines: the honorable Mr. Alastair Whybrow, renowned jeweler, owner of the Sparkle of Sound is now formally courtin me.

But how a widow that invest most of her time running a magazine has been able to "catch" one of the most determined bachelors in Caledon? Well, our story begans very innocently. I met Mr. Whybrow in some cultural event, an exhibition, I think to recall. We were properly introduced and chatted for awhile about literature and writing. After that first time, and due we shared commond interests, we kept meeting by chance in the library, in some teas, in friend's soirées... Finally I plead Mr Whybrow to write a tale for the Christmas issue of the Strand. Being the kind man he is, couldn't refuse it, and our meetings proliferated under the excuse of discussing his work.

Our friendship grew day by day and Thomas, my boy, spent most of his mornings running from The Cay to Caledon Sound delivering our correspondence. After some time I couldn't deny to myself my feelings for Mr Whybrow were beyond friendship, but I didn't dare to say anything. Mr. Whybrow had told me he was very happy with his bachelor status and didn't want to change his situation. Some bad experiences in the past prevented him from trusting his heart to a woman.

"Is so wonderful to be able to talk with an inteligent woman that isn't interested in the romantic side of live, Mrs Warburton..." he had said. "A mature lady with whom to share a good book and a glass of brandy. We could chaperone each other to formal dances without the pressure of those crazy feelings."

Of course, that broke my heart, but I tried to be strong and act as the friend Mr Whybrow needed. So I put my feelings at bay and acted as his companion to some events. He took me to the Dashwood Friday gathering and went together to some dances.

"We could even been distant cousins!" he had the nerve to suggest.

Trying to forget the sadness on my heart, I travelled to Rivet Town, where I had some business to attend, and cut our daily correspondence for some days. While I was in Rivet Town the tavern where I usually had lunch got on fire, and I suffered some burns trying to fight the flames.

We couldn't stop the fire, not even with the help of Mr Szondi and his firefighter experience, and my dear neighbour took me back to Caledon Cay to heal my wounds.

The same day I returned to The Cay, a very scruffy Mr. Whybrow showed at my door with flowers, chocolates and a worried frown in his face.

"I've heard about the accident" he said, entering my bedroom without acknowledge my butler and his dissaproving frown. Alastair sat in my bed and took one of my bandaged hands into his. "How are you feeling, dear?"

"I'm fine... just burned a little my arms..."

He touched my check, where I had some superficial scratchs.

"Your beautiful face... "

He said that almost as if he was talking to himself, and I didn't dare to breath. He was caressing my skin very softly with his big, gentle hands, and I followed every one of his movements with a lump in my throat. He seemed lost in his own thoughts when leaned over me, his eyes in mine.

"Alastair...?"

And then he kissed me. A soft, delicated, almost shy kiss that made me sob and cry because no one had kissed me that way, as if I was the most precious think in the world.

That was the beginning of our story. Mr Whybrow confessed he had strong feelings for me but was afraid they weren't reciprocated. My hasty departure to Rivet Town, the end of our letters and my silence were terrible for him, but when he heard about the fire he swallowed his pride and ran to me.

"The thought of losing you for good was more than I could bare. I had to come and see you. I was ready to take your rejection if it comes, but I couldn't live that way anymore."

And I couldn't either.

REMEMBER, REMEMBER THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER

Tue, 04 Nov 2008 12:07:26 GMT

Yesterday, my dear neighbour Mr. Szondi celebrated a pre-Guy Fawkes' day in his plot of Mayfair. He lit a very big bonfire and served hot chocolate and toasted nuts to fight againts the cold night.

The event was magic, the show, wonderful. I couldn't help remembering the old nursery Rhyme my nanny used to sing to me and my brothers on Guy Fawkes' day.

Remember remember the fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
I see no reason why gunpowder, treason
Should ever be forgot...

To help tradition, Mr Szondi put Guy’s image to burn into the bonfire. Buuuut, in fact, said image was of some Linden Guy and… well, the moment we noticed it and commented about it, all the sim crashed. Coincidence? I don’t think so!

THE SOCIAL SEASON STARTED... AND ALMOST KILLED ME!

Mon, 13 Oct 2008 16:42:04 GMT

I've enjoyed the most incredible month I can remember in a long, long time.

All started September the 28th, when I attended Her Grace Gabrielle Riel of Caledon Carntaigh and Lady Azul Draken Handfasting. It was a ceremony as we all Caledonians like, all luxury and formal, beautiful gowns. I was thrilled to be in society again in such a great event.

Five days after that, October 3th, I was invited for Lady Amber and Lady Abigail Raymaker-Palowakski, Baronesses of Bauerhoff, to celebrate their first anniversary of partnership. This was a more informal ceremony, of course, but I just loved it because... where else I could had had the pleasure to enjoy a good cigar without being censured?

Next day, October the 4th, I assisted briefly to The 2008 Boobie Ball in Winterfell, and after confirming by myself it was a great success, I took a car to Victoriana's Oktober Fest Formal dance. It was a very crazy night and Mr. Higgins almost quit his job because I arrived too late, by morning! Obviously, he doesn't think that's the correct attitude for a young widow!

I know I should have stayed home trying to win my butler's approval, but October the 5th was the end of Oktober Fest and I was invited to two events: a Horse Race in Victoriana and a party hosted by Mr. Aries Aeon in Windemere to introduce to Caledon a new artist, Miss Ynne Smythe. Her gallery is already open in Bay Terrace but she wanted to share her art with Caledon.

I ended the night visiting Neufreistadt and dancing with a very fluffy rabbit-gentleman in the ball of closure of Oktober Fest.

"I hope Madame will have a more resting weekend this time –suggested Mr. Higgings last Friday, while I sorted my daily mail.

I was almost afraid to tell him I had promissed Ms Soliel Snook I would attend the Grand Opening of his new Garden Center in Giggleford. It was a 4 days' party, from Thrusday October the 9th to Sunday 9th. I heard the great crooner Mr. Brixton Canning performing a concert that very Friday night, and attended the Picnic on Sunday. I danced with the handsome Erik Merlin till property called for an end, and enjoyed the great music and the picnic baskets surrounded by the good people of Caledon.

It was another weekend to remember, and I returned home not very late. I thought I could make Higgins happy with my early night, but he just shook his head and said:

"You made yourself sick, Madame."

...

I just hate when he's right, because today I've awaken to a terrible realization: I have caught the flu! Damn evening gowns! Now I'm lying in my couch, curled under a quilt with my cat and surviving with lemon tea while Mr. Higgins walk around the house with that superiority air...!

I would hate him... if I didn't need his help to return to my bedroom!

But it was worth it... it was really worth it...

THE SLOW AWAKENING

Fri, 19 Sep 2008 12:16:54 GMT

I've been living in a blur since my husband passed away. The hurt was too much to bear. I left Caledon and my dear Cays for months, looking for some peace in my beloved Egypt, surrounded by my parents and brothers. Their love helped me healing the big wound Moriarty's death had created.

In Egypt, I was, again, an adventurer, a fearless woman in search of action, digging into the old sand for treasures, History and the blessed oblivion.

But one afternoon, after a very hard day ridding around the sites, my dear father sat besides me in the porch where I was studying some old maps and told me:

"I love you, Alexxandria, I love you with all my heart. You're my only daughter and even if I love all my sons, you know you're the dearest treasure of my heart."

I looked at him, surprised by his tenderness. My father, a stocky, hard Scottish man, rarely puts his emotions on display.

"I know, Dad..."

"And because I love you I want you to go. Go home, Alexxandria, you're healing now but you need to go and to face life again. You have responsibilities now, people who depend on you, that are waiting for you on an empty house. Go and take charge of your state, and when you will be again the proud lady you have always been, we would love having you here again, working with us for pleasure and no because you need to hide from the world."

And my father, of course, was right. So I returned to Caledon, to The Cay, to Warburton Manor. I cleaned my home, packed my late husband's things and treasured his memories, not his belongings.

And life started again...

My cousin, Zombielady McLaglen, embarked me on publishing a magazine, and almost without knowing it, The Caledon Strand Magazine was released by July. We did a party and the magazine was quite a success and I invested all my time on the second issue the same way I had buried my sorrow in the Egyptian sands.

One morning, the stable boy came home talking about a new building in The Cay, a very mysterious one that didn't allow people to come near.

"What do you mean? –I asked him, curious for once.

"It has some red lines around it that prevents people to traspass the property, Madam."

That was something so out of Caledon's policy I decided to go and have a look by myself. I was dressed in a manly attire I sometimes use when I'm at home, writing, so I just threw over my shoulders my old traveling coat and went out.

And yes, there it was, just in front of Mr. Szondi's fair maze, near the ferry: a big, stone building that had ban red lines all around. A new, mysterious neighbour had built him as a Museum of Oddities.

I was standing there, trying to understand why someone would open a museum that people can't visit, when some neighbours began to show: The Baron Klaus Wulfenbach, Lord Primbroke, my dear Summer Gildea, Mr. Wrath Constantine and her lovely wife, Mrs. Tinker Imako, Miss Peaches Latrel, the handsome Duke Mr. Numinus Quandry and Mr. Stargazer Diller ridding his beautiful horse... We had fun trying to discover why we couldn't enter the museum. I should confess we got a little drunk with Mrs Imako's absynthe, and that is the only explanation we have for Lord Primbroke producing a Snowball Thrower, a Chicken Cannon or a green ectoplasmatic beams weapon. I'm sure didn't help the general mood shooting my Webley against the closed doors.

But it was so fun... I returned to my home dizzy from the alcohol but happy as I hadn't been in a long, long time. It was like a reminder: you have friends out there, Alexx, you should go out, meet them and have fun again. So stop hiding inside your home and live a little!

I'm looking for the Social Season to start! Alexxandria McLaglen is back!

GOODBYE, MY LOVE

Thu, 14 Feb 2008 00:55:22 GMT

February the 6th found me sitting by my desk, writting thank you notes in answer to the condolences neighbours and friends had sent since the news of my husband's death had arrived. It was a mechanical task. "Our deepest sympathies for your lost." "I appreciate your kind words." "Our pleads are with you, Mrs. Warburton." "Thank you, dear friend. I feel your love and it conforts me."

A knock on the door stopped the pen. Mr. Higgins entered.

"Madame... --he hesitated and I gazed at him with surprise--. The... the master has arrived.

A dark, tall figure comes through the door, with a long travelling coat and a cowboy hat. I suffocated a cry and stood up, the chair fell over the rug, the ink sprayed all over the notes I was writting.

"Mort! --I cried.

And then, I fainted.

When I opened my eyes again, the face of a stranger was leaning over me. He was a man in his thirty, with big, piercing eyes. His head was shaved, and my still foggy mind thought it was weird he had no hair in his head and a five o'clock shadow in his face.

"Wellcome back, Mrs. Warburton --said the stranger with a deep, foreign accent--. You gave us quite a fright.

Then, memories came back to me and I tried to sit up.

"Mort... --I whispered.

The stranger took my hand and squeezed it gently.

"I'm very sorry, Madame. It was me who you saw at the door.

I look at his eyes about to deny it, but something in him told me the truth. Then I saw the travelling coat and the hat resting on a chair near the cheslong I was laying in and sighed, feeling weak and very stupid. I laid back again and closed my eyes.

"Who are you, sir --asked I in a whisper, trying to regain my nerves.

"Mordekai Saeed, madame. I am... I was a good friend of your husband. Mr. Jones asked me to escort Mr. Warburton's coffin to Caledon.

Suddenly I felt like laughing, finally understanding Higgins' previous words. My husband had arrived home, indeed.

My laugh sounded as a sob and I covered my mouth. I couldn't cry. My husband's corpse was at home, I had to see him. I had to make the final arrangements for the funeral, the flowers, the graveyard, the music, the notes...

A big hand covered mine, removing it from my face. I opened my eyes and Mr. Saeed was there, his eyes holding mine.

"Cry, Alexxandria --he said--. Now is the moment. Cry for your husband.

And then, something broke inside of me, the tears came to me and I started sobbing and crying for Mort, for me, for the wasted time, for my broken heart and for the future we both dreamt and never will have.

Mr. Saeed held me till I cried myself to sleep.

February the 7th we buried Moriarty Warburton at Caledon Cay, in an private, lovely ceremony hosted by Miss Soliel Snook. I attended the ceremony surrounded by my family, my loyal service and by the mysterious Mr. Saeed, who has stayed by my husband's coffin all the night, guarding my vigil without a word.

I greated all the people coming: my dear Young Equine McMillan gave me the greatest surprise showing after months out of Caledon. Miss Arwen Yip, Mr. Sonar Halasy and Miss Mar came from Spain just to gave Mort the last goodbye. Mr. Jomander Trefoil held Miss Snook during the emotional ceremony. Mr. Drake Moyer came dressed in his militar uniform. I kept looking at the grave and was absentminded, thinking of Mort, of his smile, his voice, his hands caressing me... my body tembled and the open grave seemed to call me to its dark insides. I felt my body swung toward the hole in the ground when a hand caught me and a hoarse voice whispered into my ear: "Stay with us."

I straightened myself up as the lady Moriarty wanted me to be, and looked at my side, where Mr. Saeed was standing, acting as nothing had happened.

"... And now, Mrs. Warburton wants to say some words --I heard Soliel saying.

I breathed deeply, cleared my throat and told everyone about the love of my life, how I met him and how I will never forget him.

I LOVE YOU, MORT, AND I ALWAYS WILL.
REST IN PEACE NEAR YOUR ALEXX.

PS: The typist of the late Mr. Moriarty Warburton is well and wants to express his gratitude to all the fine people of Caledon that went to his funeral, to the party at the Early Birds' Nest and that showed their sympathies to his widow. You, Caledonians, really know how to make people feel loved. Thank you! It was a pleasure to play in SL with you!!

THE TRAGIC FINAL

Mon, 04 Feb 2008 00:08:33 GMT

"Wake up, madame. Please, wake up...

I open an eye and see Nelly leaning over my bed.

"What time is it? --I ask with hoarse voice, still fighting the sleep.

"Ten past eleven, madame.

I groan and roll over myself.

"Nelly, you know I went to the Imbolc party last night, I came home past 3... let me sleep!

I'm tired and feel sleepy. The Imbolc Celebration at Lady Amber Palowakski's Ballroom Pavilion in the Moors was just wonderful. I arrived late, but found there the ever charming Mr. Iason Hassanov, that was kind enough to be my partner for the rest of the night.

We danced without stop, enjoying the fine music and the company of our neighbours. Our hostesses, the Baronessas of Bauerhoff, Lady Amber and her charming wife, my good friend Abi, made the night unforgetable.

"Please, madame... you have a visitor...

Nelly's voice is just a whisper, but her tone rings warning bells in my still sleeping mind. An unexpected visitor a Sunday morning, before midday and after a party night?

I sit in bed and look at Nelly. She doesn't say a word, just stares at me with eyes wide open. And then I know.

"Find my dark green dress, Nelly --I say, my voice firm and strange to my own ears.

"Yes, madame.

I leave the bed, wash myself and leave Nelly help me dressing. We remain in silence, but our eyes search each other in the mirror as she does my hair in a formal knot.

I find Mr. Higgins waiting for me at the bottom of the main staircase.

"Madame, you have a visitor --he sais in his always formal tone--. I showed him into your studio.

"Thank you, Mr. Higgins.

He leads me to the door of my own studio and steps aside to let me enter. I hesitate, my hand about to open the door. I look up to Higgins. He's standing there with his usual martial air, but a moisture in his eyes betrays him. That makes my breath stops. He knows, too.

I look again to the closed door of my studio, my hand still in the air.

"Help me --I whisper.

Mr. Higgins' hand softly takes mine and puts it over his arm.

"Courage, madame --he sais.

He opens the door and I enter the studio by his arm. A man stands looking at my book collection, but turns to the door hearing us. He's dressed in a very brittish, black morning suit and has that militar appearance I had observed in the Queen's men when I too worked for Her Majesty.

He courts in front of me.

"Mrs. Warburton, I'm Mr. Jones, at your service.

I recognize the name. He's Mort's superior at the Foreign Office. My heart misses a beat but I oblige myself to be the proper hostess everybody expects.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jones. Please, take a sit. May I offer you a cup of tea? A coffe, maybe?

"No, thank you, madame.

I nod and Mr. Higgins leads me gently toward a chair where I sit. He remains by my side, his thin, warm hand over my shoulder. Mr. Jones takes the chair opposite mine and sighs.

"Mrs. Warburton, I'm affraid I've come to Caledon with sad news --the hand on my shoulder tighs while Mr. Jones keeps talking--. There's no easy way to say that, madame, but...

"Go on, Mr. Jones.

He sighs again and starts his speech, so many times replayed.

"Mrs. Warburton, Her Highness, the Queen Victoria, has requested me to inform you about the unfortunate decease of your husband, Mr. Moriarty Warburton, that passed away two days ago while working for the Crown. Her Highness wants to make you know how sorry we are about his death, Mrs. Warburton, as your husband was not only a loyal subdit and a brave agent, but a good man and a better friend for us.

I know a lady should cry hearing such a news, even faint, but I can't. I just feel cold inside. I look at Mr. Jones with a blank stare. He clears his throat and keeps talking.

"Mrs. Warburton, we could arrange you travelling to London for the funneral. It will be a militar cere...

"No --I cut him--. I want him here with me, at home.

"But, Mrs. Warburton, the Queen...

I look at him with a cold stare and he just get silence.

"I don't mind what the Queen wants, Mr. Jones. She took my husband away from me. Now, I just expect for Her to return him to me.

Mr. Jones looks at Higgins, who just returns his gaze without blinking, and his pose shows his side in this matter.

I nod at Mr. Jones, dismissing him with an air so royal The Queen would envy me.

"I hope to hear about this matter before Tuesday, Mr. Jones. I will be burying my husband Thursday in Caledon Cay, so go and bring him here.

He stands and bows to me.

"I will contact the embassy, madame.

"Fine --I don't even move from my sit--. Good day, Mr. Jones. Mr. Higgins will see you to the door.

"Good day, Mrs. Warburton. And, again, my deepest sympathies.

He leaves the room and I remain in my chair, looking without seeing the shelves in front of me, the books and souvenirs. Next thing I know is the light has changed, is dimer than before, and someone is touching my shoulder.

"Madame... you can't stay here like that. Please, come with me.

I let Mr. Higgins leads me out of the studio. I see Doña Mercedes in my way to the staircase and she has puffy eyes. I want to smile to her, say I will take care of all, but I feel as if I have no control over my body, and Higgins keeps pushing me to the staircase.

Without saying a word, I walk to my room. I see Nelly there, she has opened the bed for me. They work in silence, helping me to get under the blankets. Higgins even tucks me in.

"Rest, madame. We will take care of you. Now, rest.

They close the windows and leave the room, and when the door close behind them, I can finally cry.

My husband, Moriarty Warburton, is death. How I'm going to survive without him?

THE NIGHT OF THE BARD

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 17:21:56 GMT

Last friday night, 25 of January, we celebrated Robert Burns's day in Loch Avie, thanks to the great work of Miss Soliel Snook and the generosity of the Duchess of Loch Avie, who was kind enough to let us use her wonderful conservatory.

For me, that even was a happy and a sad one, all at once. Happy because I enjoyed greatly the supper (oh, how wonderful memories the haggis, tatties and neeps brought to me!! I hadn't ate them since my childhood in Scotland, in my fathers family home). Sad because I went alone, again, and missed my husband.

When Miss Soliel sent me the invitation card, I was not sure if it was propper to accept it. My husband has been out for a month an half now and I wasn't sure if I should remain at home till his return. In fact, I was alone for Christmas and New Year, and it could have been a misserable time if my dear service hadn't stayed with me. Doña Mercedes, Nelly and even Mr. Higgins did everything they could to make me feel loved and not alone. Never tasted a food so good as Doña Mercedes cooked for all of us, and Nelly played her violin on Christmas Night. By New Year, we invited Tom, the stable's boy, and I joined Nelly's violin on the piano as the boy sung and danced.

Anyway, back to friday night, I was not really sure about going to the ball, but when Nelly took my old tartan out of a trunk and I was dressed on it... well, I couldn't resist it!! Wearing again the McLaglen colors, I felt as a child again, and I forgot all the sorrow with the absolutely fantastic supper Miss Snook did for us, and the chat with Miss Jen Wise, Lady Lapin, Mr. Peccable, Miss Fucsia or the always merry and lovely Baronesses of Bauerhoff.

I must confess I overdid the Scottish wisckey. At some point of the night I surprised myself singing one of Nelly's old Irish songs. And when the toast began, I couldn't help it toasting for my husband coming back to me safe and sound.

I was very wasted by the time the supper was over and Her Grace the Duchess Gabriel Reil led us to the dance. There, the wisckey took the best of me and I danced all the gigs, enjoying the Scottish music... and the view of all those men in kilt. Even Mr. Oolon knees were profusely discussed!

I parted before I could make a fool of myself, and returned home in an open carriage, hopping the cold wind could help me to calm down. By the time I arrived home, my cheeks were rosy but my mind wasn't clouded by the alcohol. Mr. Higgins came out of the house and helped me to get down from the carriage.

"Welcome home, madame.

"Is too late, Higgins. Why aren't you sleeping?

"I was waiting for you, madame, of course.

We walked through the garden and Higgins helped me to the door. I looked at him and his eyes were almost... kind.

"Any... -I sighed-. Any news from...? -my voice failed me, but Higgins just patted my hand over her arm.

"No, madame, no note or letter came this afternoon.

"I see...

I walked to the stairs with heavy feet and Higgins' voice stopped me in the first step.

"Madame -I turned to him and he added-. I'm sure the master will be returning home soon.

I had a lump in my throat and could only nod to him. I went to my room, all the joy of the ball forgotten. The kindness of Higgins overwhelmed me, and I just fell over the bed, in my tartan, and let the sleep took me to the land of dreams, where Mort was still by my side.

Mon, 26 Nov 2007 15:44:45 GMT

The Witch of Kingsdale Manor

Chapter I

This story began one chilly autumn day. It was past lunchtime and the sun was beginning to fall slowly to the sea. It was one of those days so cold and foggy you only want to stay at home, near the fireplace, wrapped in a warm shawl and a good book on your hands. And that was exactly what I was doing. Dressed in a comfy gown, the hair loosely put in a knot, my spectacles falling down my nose while I read Monsieur Dumas’ La dame aux camélias. I knew it wasn’t the best book to read in my mod, but I have some masochist side sometimes I like to indulge in. And by then my husband had been out for so long, with only a short letter letting me know he was alive, I wanted to mourn my loneliness with a good, heartbroken drama.

So I was half lying in the sofa of our parlor, with my feet near the fireplace, the dog grunting in his sleep, and Nelly
humming an old Irish song while sewing, sitting opposite to me, when we heard the front doorbell.

Nelly looked up to me with a frown. I knew what she was thinking: it is not proper for a maid to be sharing the parlor with her mistress, so if I was having guests, she should be ending her sewing in the kitchen. I don’t care about social etiquette at home. I like Nelly and I like having her with me when she doesn’t have to clean and I’ve done working in my writing. In fact, when I’m alone as I was then, I use to have my meals in the kitchen, with Doña Mercedes, Higgins, Nelly and even the stable’s boy. He doesn’t live with us, but stays here till noon. He’s sixteen and always looks sad when he has to return to his home. Doña told me once he sometimes comes in the morning looking as if he has been beaten. Maybe we should offer him a full time job here…

Back to our story, Nelly and I heard the bell of the front door and shared a surprised look.

“Who could be at… –I watched the Grandfather’s clock-- 3:30 in the afternoon?

Nelly shrugged her thin shoulders and stood quickly when the parlor’s door opened and Mr. Higgins entered. He frowned at Nelly, who ignored him, and said in his oh, so formal butler’s tone:

“Mrs. Warburton, Mr. Robert McLaglen is here to…

He never ended his introduction because at the mention of the name I let out a cry, stood and run for the door, my shawl and the book flying to the floor in my hurry. In one second I got the door wide opened and launched myself against the tall, strong body of my favorite brother.

“My, my, pequeña, is this the way a married woman greets her guests?

At his joke I couldn’t hold it anymore and started to cry. All the tension, the sorrow for Mort’s absence, the worries about my marriage finally hit me, and I cried my soul out into my brother’s arms.

I don’t know how many time I spent wetting his waistcoat, but when I finally regained my composure I was sitting in my brother’s lap, in my couch, and Higgins and Nelly had vanished from the parlor.

“What’s happening, my sweet sister? –whispered Robert on my ear while I blew my nose not too elegantly.

“I don’t know it anymore, Robert –my voice sounded hoarse from the crying-. Mort has been gone for a month now. And before that, he left me alone for another month and half. I’m always alone… and I don’t know where he goes, what he does…

Robert caressed my hair softly.

“You knew about his unusual job, his business with the Royal Crown and the Guvnah’s quarters…

“Yes, but then I was involved in the same projects and usually we went together! Now… now I feel left behind… as if Moriarty doesn’t need me anymore… as if I was an old maid, a weak damsel, a… a….

“A lady?

I sighed and sat straight, with my eyes down, looking absently at the wet handkerchief between my hands. Robert side-hugged me.

“Alexx… you aren’t a young girl anymore. You are over thirty! Is expected from you to stay at home, to take care of your house… to be a mother… that’s why the Foreign Office doesn’t count on you anymore…

I looked at him with flaming eyes, rage boiling inside of me.

“And they can count on Mort even if he’s five years older than me, only because he’s a man!? I still can beat your sorry ass in any horse race! I can shoot better than our brother and find my way in the desert while you, men, die on the dunes without…

My brother’s laugh stopped me.

“That’s the Alexx I love! –he shouted-. Not the crying woman I found when I arrived here! The fighter! You’re right, hermanita, you could beat any man ass, as you so nicely put in. The problem is that you aren’t feeling as if you could.

Robert’s laugh subsided and he touched my face with a warm, sweet smile in his lips.

“Mama told me about what happened in Numbakulla. If I’m not mistaken, you had been feeling down since then. You’re afraid to be yourself again, to be the adventurous woman Warburton fell in love with… and, at the same time, you’re afraid to lose him because of that.

I stared at him in great astonishment. When had that happened? When the youngest of my four older brothers, the one always looking for troubles, the inveterate womanizer and gambler had grown into a wise man?

Noticing my confusion, Robert laughed again, and the mirage got broken. There it was my dearest brother, with his untidy hair, the childish-like dimps and the mischievous eyes. He had been always my partner in crime when children, because he was only three years older than me, or maybe because he had a sense for adventure that matched mine.

Robert patted my shoulder as an old comrade.

“But don’t worry, hermanita, because your brother is finally here to save you from boreness… and from your own twisted mind!

I couldn’t stop the smile that reached my lips.

“Oh, really? And what are you planning to do? Built a bordello in my house? A boxing joint in my back garden again?

“Better than that. I’m taking you with me in a journey.

I sat there, blinking away the rest of my tears, too surprised to say anything more.

“What? Don’t you want to travel with me?

I cleaned my throat, trying to cover my surprise.

“Well… before getting married, I asked you to take me in some of your travels… and you never did it!

My brother had the virtue to look ashamed.

“Alexx… those trips I did weren’t suitable for a young lady –he sighed--. Hell, most of them weren’t suitable even for me! You know I was a little crazy then…

“A little crazy? Honey, you made papa look ten years older when you disappeared onto the sea for over two years!

Robert could not longer gaze up at me, and his voice was just a whisper when he said:

“I was the forth son of a Scottish baronet. I knew William was the heir, Julius had his army career, Theodore his studies but… what was there for me? Not good with business as William, not good with books… the only place where I felt as if I could win some respect was aboard a ship, Alexx… and that was what I did, I boarded in a ship, heading to the unknown, looking for a treasure maybe, a stroke of luck that would made you all proud of me…

“We have been always proud of you, Robert. You were the joy of our home. We almost died from sorrow during those two years.

He hugged me again and kissed the top of my head.

“I’m sorry for that… but you now what, hermanita? I did find my treasure there. I came back with enough money to buy my own ship and start my trade business.

“And now you have a little fleet but no home. When are you going to buy a good land and to find a woman crazy enough to stand you?

Robert grinned as the naughty boy he really was.

“Well, maybe I’ve found it –when I glanced at him, mouth wide open, he quickly added--. No, no the crazy woman! I meant the property! That’s why I’m here, in fact.

I shacked my head, took the little bell over the coffee table and ring it. Higgins showed in the parlor only seconds after been called.

“Higgins, Mr. McLaglen is about to propose me what I’m sure will be a crazy adventure. Would you be kind enough to ask Doña Mercedes for some strong coffee? And some of her cinnamon rolls, if she has them done.

Higgins frowned at me, but nodded.

“Of course, madam. Mr. McLaglen would want some kind of spirits with his coffee?

Robert smiled widely.

“Why not? Is Warburton still buying that fine French cognac he had last time I visited the house?

“If Mr. McLaglen is referring to the twenty years old cognac, yes, indeed, we have purchased a new barrel –Higgins looked at me--. Should I bring the decanter, madam?

“Yes, please, Higgins.

He bowed and disappeared. Robert chuckled.

“I don’t know how can you stay around him without laughing all the time. He’s like a character our of and old play! Sometimes I fear he will break is back when bowing because he looks always so stiffed…

I giggled and then I felt guilty for doing it.

“Higgins is absolutely loyal to Moriarty –I said in his defense.

“And to you?

I laughed then.

“Nah, he hates me, of course. He thinks I’m his master’s worst mistake. But I’m sure he would hate even more to lose me. I’m the reason he wakes up in the morning, to try to make a lady of me.

“Poor old man –muttered Robert.

“Hey”

When Higgins returned I served the coffee and finally asked my brother about the reason of his visit.

“Sometimes I’ve told you how the ship I boarded ten years ago got lost in the middle of the unknown seas, how we arrived to islands only inhabited by natives or, even worst, pirates. For almost a year, we traveled around the wildest side of the Caribbean without meeting a single honest, white man, trying to survive to the pirates, trading to make money enough to repair our ship after each battle. We found great treasures, we were rich! But after a time, we have no ship to return home.

“Finally, in one of those little islands, we found an English ship owned by Lord Quentin Richmond, Baron of Kingsdale. The Lord wasn't in his ship, but in the worst tavern of the docks, where we found him drunk as a monkey, with the darkest, haunted eyes I’ve ever seen. He was playing cards with a famous pirate. Never is a good idea to play cards with a pirate: if you’re not good enough, he will leave you without a penny. If you’re good, he will get mad, kill you and steal your money from your dead body.

“Was that Lord good enough?

“No, but he was too drunk for his own sake. When the pirate was about to leave the table, Lord Richmond began to stammer about the devil and black magic and witches, and ended shouting the hell was coming over us. Pirates are very, very superstitious people, so this one got very nervous and tried to silence the Lord with his fists. The poor, crazy bastard laughed and asked him to end his suffering, to kill him. The pirate was so scared by then he took out his dagger and aimed it to the Englishman’s heart.

“Did he kill him?

“No. I stopped him; we fought till the pirate run away crunching his profits and his amulets against her chest. When I crouched in front of Lord Richmond, he looked up at me and said: ‘you saved my life, young man. And one day, you will know how wrong you were at doing it.’

I gasped, my coffee cup long time forgotten.

“How cold he say such a thing?

Robert shrugged.

“Remember he was drunk. Anyway, I took him to his ship and, the next day, finally sobered, the Baron of Kingsdale asked to see me again. ‘I’m in deep debt with you, sir’ he told me, ‘I’ve been told you’re in need of help to reach civilization. I will take you all to Jamaica, where I have lands and more ships. You could find one to return to Europe, if that’s your wish’. And that’s how we found our way home.

“Then, he rewarded you for saving his life…

“That’s what I thought, but a month ago I was visited by a lawyer, who brought with him a letter from Lord Quentin Richmond. In this letter the poor old man wrote he was about to die and wanted to reward me by my past actions the way I deserved. He had no sons and his title and fortune would get lost. He was not afraid, he wrote he was even relieved to be the last of Kingsdale’s house. But he wanted to give me something, so he was bequeathing me his family property in Cornwall.

“Oh, my! Is that for real?

“That’s what the lawyer told me. It seems Lord Richmond finally surrendered to craziness and squandered almost all his fortune. But he kept the family property in Cornwall, with its own dock near enough of Plymouth to have there the central point of my fleet.

“And how is the house?

“Well, hermanita, that’s way I’m here, I need the help of my married sister. Come with me to Cornwall and take a look on the house, tell me if it’s worth it to invest in it or if would be better just to sell it. Tell me what I’m supposed to do with a house, the servants… you know, that kind of things.

I remained in silence for some minutes while Robert looked at me, expectant. We were in the middle of the Social Season in Caledon, certainly not the best of moments to leave the city. Last year I would have laughed at Robert propose: too many events to attend, too many parties to host. But this season, without Moriarty here to take me to the dances…

“I will go with you, Robert –I heard myself saying.

My brother beamed at me.

“Then go to pack, Alexxandria. The adventure has just started.

FAMILY PORTRAIT

Sun, 11 Nov 2007 21:21:34 GMT

Dear neighbours,

I've received some letters showing interest in the characters of my everyday adventures. Today, when looking around some documents, I've found this picture we took after rebuilding Warburton Manor months ago.

From left to right: Nelly, Mr. Higgins, me (sitting), Moriarty Warburton
and Doña Mercedes.

For future references, I will add here a little personal details about each of our family members.

NELLY: Is our homemaid, a thin, petite Irish girl. When I look at her I always think about pixies, because she has those mischievous bluishes eyes I've always associated with fairies. She has a very sweet voice and likes to sing old irish songs. She even can play a violin good enough to entertain us on the long, dark winter evenings. Nelly is like a ray of sun, the joy of the house, laughing around, always willing to work but willing to have fun too. She just turned 21 last spring, and enjoys flirting with all merchants, workers or messenger that show at our back door.
I met Nelly in a brothell the night she finally surrendered to hunger and went to ask for a job. She was so thin the madame laughed at her. But she was, at last, a strong irish girl used to survive working at the docks, so I took her under my wing. (The reason for me to be in such an establishment would need a long explanition that, maybe, should wait for a best moment to be shared.) Nelly has been with me for more than 4 years now, even before I met my husband, and our relationship is stronger than the typical between mistress and maid.

MR. HIGGINS: Our butler. Well, maybe it would be more accurate to say he is MY husband's butler. Higgins has been with Mort for almost 15 years, since my husband opened his first house in London. He's soooo stiff, so absolutely proper in all his actions, sometimes I act as a shameless child only to see him blush in horror.
I don't know how old is Higgins, maybe he's almost sixty, but he still looks strong and healthy. He probably will bury all of us!
Higgins doesn't like me too much. I suppose he thinks his master could had married better, maybe with a nice, sweet english rose that would wait for his return sewing in the parlour with endless patience. But, as the loyal butler he is, he looks after me when Mort isn't around.

MR. MORIARTY WARBURTON: Tall, dark, serious, dangerous, with the most piercing blue eyes I've ever seen. I met Moriarty Warburton when I was twenty and eight and worked for the Foreign Office as translator and afrikan/asian affair's consultant. He was a Crown Agent too, half scientific, half expert on magic and legends. Our first meeting wasn't good, he thought I was "just a woman trying to play as a man", and I thought he was a snooty, chauvinist british gentleman. But I was wrong: Mort is very responsible and sensible, but he has a very naughty side that seems even more mischievous because his formal appearance. He treats me with respect, value my opinions and doesn't tries to impose his. And he's not a pure british gentleman! He has some spanish blood from ancient ancestors (even if he barely can't speak spanish now) and his grandfather made his big fortune in America. His father returned to London, where Mort was born and raised.
Nowadays, Mort has investments in some lucrative business he watches as a falcon; but his main job is still a very mysterious, dangerous one: as expert on magic, he travels around fighting againts the unknown. He used to take me with him, but now... now...

DOÑA MERCEDES: My cook was a wedding "present" from my spanish grandmother. She worked in my mother's family manor, in Barcelona, as the First Cook's assistant. The First Cook was a stiff, sharp woman that cooked without salt and made cakes so dry as she and my grandmother are, so when my granny told me her Cook was having issues with Doña Mercedes, I was happy to take her under my roof and safe her from a life with such a boring people. Doña Mercedes is a very nice person, always with a big smile in her wide face. She's maybe fifty, her hair is all grey, but I couldn't be sure because her skin is just rosy and perfect. She cook the most wonderful cakes and pastries, and her dishes are just delicious. Of course, she refuses to cook with lard and each month we have to bring liters of olive oil from Spain.
On our wedding day Doña Mercedes got so impressed with Moriarty that she treats my husband as royalty! And as far as me is concerned, she's like a mother-hen, fussing over me and even scolding me! I just love her for that.

TEA PARTY AT CALEDON CAY

Fri, 02 Nov 2007 00:28:45 GMT

Last Sunday, 28th of October, I hosted my first party for the Social Season in Caledon.

The idea for it came to me one morning when I was trying to find the proper gloves for one of my everyday froks. And I have none!! Then I thought It would be lovely to see some specific items in our dessigners shops, more things appart from dresses, things as gloves, hats, shawls...

And that was the reason for me to contact our wonderful Lady Amber Palowakski and ask her about inviting some of our favourites couturières for a tea at Warburton Manor. In the party, those dessigners would meet a group of Caledon Ladies that would ask them what clothes, complements or fashion dreams they would love to see for real in Caledon.

For some weeks I exchanged letters with a group of talented couturières, first with fear to see my proposal rejected. After all, I thought, who am I to bother such popular dessigners? But, to my delight, they were very kind to me and all of them agree to meet with the ladies. Unfortunately, some of them, as the wonderful Skye Qi, Eladrienne Laval and Yuriko Muromachi, couldn't finally attend the party because schedule problems. But when Lady Amber asked me for the final list to put into the oficial calendar, I was proud to write those names:

- Miss Taliah Talamasca (from Wardrobe Trunk)

- Miss Jackal Ennui (from Lassitude & Ennui)

- Miss Virrginia Tombola (from La Bicyclette)

- Miss Fuschia Begonia (from Avalanche, Lightfoot, Sputnik)

- Miss Terry Lightfoot (from Avalanche, Lightfoot, Sputnik)

- Miss Betty Doyle (from Drusilla's Delight)

- Miss Cyn Vandeverre (from Vandeverre's Emporium)

As the day was getting closer, I got nervious. What if no one came? What would I do then with the pastries, cakes and sandwiches Lady Primbroke had made for me? But finally, when Sunday arrived, the seven couturières came and, after them, around 15 ladies!!

It was quite a success or, at last, that's what it seemed to me!

Finally, more than 20 persons gathered at my back garden, sipping coffe, tea and lemonade, and talking about what we wanted to wear. That's what we hadn't found and want to be able to dress in Caledon:

- Every day and morning dresses. Something confy to work in the garden, for exemple
- Clothes to wear at home, as nightshirts and dressing gowns
- Lingeriea from Victorian fashion
- Shawls, gloves, scarffs, muffs and mittens and scarves...
- Capes and coats for the winter
- Some "adventurous" clothes: attires for ladies who need to go exploring and don't want to wear their husband's old clothes (as I sadly have to do!)

All the couturières took good note of our wishes.

Miss Tombola showed us how the prim skirts with sitting function work. The script makes the skirt to fall around your legs and not through the chair. She knows how to get for free the script and shows how to use it on all your skirts in her journal)

Sitting, from left to right: Miss Ennui is working in new fantastic shoes; Miss Doyle assured us she will be dessigning victorian clothes again; and Miss Talamasca, who took the resolution of sewing new lingerie.

Miss Begonia and Miss Lightfoot have nice day dresses and have created some Caledon Exclusivities, as the caledon Coquette, a Bustle Dress with the Caledon Patterns. Miss Lightfoot assured us she's working on muffs too.

Some gentlemen came to the party too. On the left, Mr. Farrin Underwood and her lovely wife, Imogen Saltair. On the right, Bartholomew Mornington, Lord Northanger, and Lady Northanger,
Liraz Graves. In the middle, the lovely Miss Emmaline McCarey (without her father, a pitty!) and in first plane, Her Grace, Gabrielle Riel, Duchess of Carntaigh.

A lot of fashion matters were discussed over the evening, such as the difficulties with texturized prims, Regency, Edwardian and Victorian fashion or how we'll love to be able to buy skirts and shirts separately to mix and match them. We shared adresses to different boutiques where we could find specific things we were after and, in resum, we had a very fun, useful and friendly party, and I hope all people there enjoyed it as I did.