The latter part of the 18th century witnessed Malcolm Adelbury still clawing his way into the position of power he'd envisioned; however, his burning desire to cross the threshold into the aristocracy was fading with each passing month the government's attention focused on the debate across the pond.
His sword now hung above the fireplace. Desire for any substantial confrontation, other than admonishing Mrs. Adelbury, was in the rear.
He didn't want to concentrate on the news concerning the uprising in the Americas. He'd gladly lend his military knowledge, of course; his body, he had other plans. Besides, his propensity for the decanter these past few years didn't take his uniform into consideration.
This night, the short statured, former military captain wished he could cast off the mediocrity of his hasty decision to advance his political and social standing with an alliance.
But it wasn't that easy once Margaret, the magistrate's daughter, set sights on what she heard was a future member of the English Parliament.
Too late for self-recrimination. Sweat beaded up his brow quickly, then fell.
Malcolm's headache intensified. Overindulgence the night before. He stood staring at the fireplace, touching his forehead. When can I take these damn bandages off, he thought. The empty blaze of the embers stared back with no answer.
He clenched his teeth as the vein in his neck bulged. With hands holding his head, he almost stumbled as he swung away from the fire.
"Every time I look at those damn threadbare, color-faded curtains, it makes me sick. Even the dust mites have packed up and moved out. Not to mention the tattered edges of that second-hand rug. I shudder at the neighbors' whispers.
"You're on a roll tonight, Dear. What's got you stirred up in a shepherds pie?"
"It'll be over soon Dearest. Just wait. I deserve a better life than the bottom of Bromington Heights. A war is coming. My scrap metal business will triple. I can't believe those who think we won't retaliate."
"What brought you to that conclusion, Dear? I haven't seen you mingling lately with Club members."
"These matters are too delicate for women, Dearest."
"Not necessarily, Dear. Tea's not the only thing taken in over conversation. Why, you wouldn't believe my friend's husband overheard one of the members say he's applying for a position in the Americas. Supposedly, he has a cousin who infiltrated the the dock workers. It's all hush-hush, mind you. Of course, I told them I'd not say a word to anyone.
"You just told Me."
"Well, that's different, Dear. You have no ambition."
Malcolm clinched his fist and pressed his temple hard. "How many times have I told you I'm done with war. Why are you trying to send me to my death?"
"Dear, you're doing a fabulous job yourself. Besides, everyone's in an uproar over the latest incident that happened in that Massachusetts' colony harbor. Seems as though all that planning has gone horribly wrong. That's what happens when you allow too much freedom. Why my friend said her husband..."
Interrupting, Malcolm yelled, "Oh my God, woman, shut up!" Rolling his eyes in the direction of the decanter, he muttered just above his breath, "I need a drink."
Headed toward the bar, he remembered why he summoned his Dearest to the parlour in the first place.
"I'm arranging a dinner party for 10 guests this Saturday, including our Jeffrey. He's old enough. I'm trying to secure a sponsor to the Club." A large gulp burned his throat.
"Well, Dear. I'd like to oblige. And don't drag our son into your schemes. Anyway, there's no way physically possible I can."
"What do you mean, Dearest? I wish you'd quit nagging. I'm fed up with your complaining. I already told you we can't afford a butler, a driver, and a maid just because you want to play socialite. And I've also told you a hundred times. You can't find but maybe one of those socialites, and I use the term loosely, that qualify as a friend."
"Well, Dear. It's one more than you have." Shaking her head, sighing, she continued in her usual soft, endearing manner, "and, you know exactly what I mean when I say it's not possible to make the arrangements."
"Humor me, Dearest. I'm dying to know why."
Mrs. Adelbury stood up, looking him squarely in the eye. "Because I've been dead for the past three months, the moment I was knocked out of the carriage from your bad driving. I told you many times one day your drinking would be the death of me."
He swirled around. He didn't dare look at her straightaway. His mouth twisted to one side. His eyes bulged as though truly seeing his wife for the first time. Her words, thunderous in their roar, pierced his ears. Rejected, they reverberated, then headed in another direction as he shook his head violently. His left arm rose quickly in his attempt to control the sweat droplets now pouring.
Too late. His face was wet with previously denied sorrow. As the reckoning landed on his shiny black shoes, he couldn't hold back the acknowledgement he knew deep down would one day surface.
It's preposterous! he finally admitted. However, his lips firmly gave voice to the ringing in his head as he blurted out in half denial, "You're lying. You're still harboring resentment from my encounter with Lady Tinsdale last summer."
With a horrified look, he backed up. His drink spilled as the rug entangled his foot. He tried to brace for the approaching sofa table, but the rug's hole ensnared it.
Margaret watched as the table's sharp edge pierced his skull.
Malcolm stood up slowly. Taking stock of the tattered rug, dusty shelves, smelly curtains, and the guest list, he wondered why they didn't seem to matter that much now.
His eyes fixed on her.
"You ready to go, Dear! Remember I told you that one day your drinking would be the death of you too."
This is my entry to The Ink Well Two-Week Summer Short Story Contest and Workshop, Week One Draft. If you'd like to join in, just follow the rules in the official post here: The Ink Well Two-Week Summer Short Story Contest and Workshop.
Story Word Count: 998
Thumbnail Image: from PxFuel
Logline: I chose to generate a new one:
A retired English army captain, who must secure a sponsor to fulfill his burning desire to rise in society, encounters not only hesitance from members of the exclusive Club, but also reluctance from his estranged wife.
Thank you for taking the time to stop in and read my story. I appreciate your support.
Welcome to the Short Story Contest, @justclickindiva
You set your story in the 18th century and aptly adopt the flavor of the conversation we would expect from these characters. This story is a well-developed logline, but it is more than that. It is amusing.
For example:
That's even funnier on the second reading, because now we know the secret.
When you repeat the line at the end (with slight change):
It is the perfect windup.
You've received some good suggestions, so there is not a lot left to pick over. However, in this line:
The subject seems to be one, not socialites, so for verb agreement you should probably use 'qualifies'.
The characters are great, the arc is great, the setting clearly explained.
A great story. Enjoy making the second draft.
Good luck!
Hello. Thanks for stopping by and providing your thoughts on areas you found of interest. Happy to know you liked my story.
Yes, I received some excellent tips and advice, with some corrections I overlooked.
Your catch of my subject/verb not in agreement is totally correct. I'll revise. Always have to watch out for those prepositional phrases.
This has been a wonderful experience for me to receive suggestions. I appreciate everyone who stopped by and left me their suggestions.
Congratulations @justclickindiva! You have completed the following achievement on the Hive blockchain and have been rewarded with new badge(s) :
You can view your badges on your board and compare yourself to others in the Ranking
If you no longer want to receive notifications, reply to this comment with the word
STOPTo support your work, I also upvoted your post!
I just keep on rolling, rolling, rolling. Thanks for stopping by and bringing me a new badge. I appreciate it very much.
Take care.
Thank you @justclickindiva, take care too!
We wish you a happy buzzy week 😊👍 See you soon!
Excellent first draft, @justclickindiva! I really enjoyed it. You’ve received some excellent feedback already, so I’m just going to provide some sentences I stumbled over that you might want to edit for your final draft to make them stronger and/or clarify their meaning.
And there’s a missing end quote after the sentence “Of course I told them I’d not say a word to anyone.”
Two more things to consider.
I love your bits of humor and irony. This story has very nice potential! Good luck in the contest!
Hello. Thank you so much for your pointers and suggestions. I'll review carefully the next few days before I begin my revisions. Yes, I did get some great feedback for clarity and mistakes in grammar. I'm lucky to get this type of support.
Appreciate you taking the time to review and suggestions options. Have a good rest of your week.
The truth is the story is very aristocratic, something very well set in the timeline you decided, so, I don't have many observations. I'm not used to this kind of drama-filled genre.
However, in the narrative you can feel the frustration of the characters, so it is understandable the outburst he suffers and leads him to such a terrible act.
You already have enough recommendations, but I agree that the last part should be clarified better.
A period drama centered in the 18th century! I love this story. Captivating plot. I think too much drink may have befuddled Malcolm's brain or he just lives in denial.
I noted these few things -
Add an apostrophe - shepherd's pie
Repetition of the word 'the'.
I'm not so sure about this part. Did the sharp edge pierce Malcolm's skull literally? If yes, how was he able to still get up?
Hello @kemmyb. Thank you so much for visiting and your sharp eye. I appreciate the feedback in catching some items I missed.
Correct. I forgot the apostrophe in Shepherd's Pie. Will correct
Double "the". Will remove
Malcolm died. His wife was already dead. She came to take him with her after he died. Did you see where he hit his head on edge of the table. That's when he died. He (his spirit) got up and looked around. Then the things he was worried about before didn't mean anything because he was dead. Then she told him his drinking would kill him and to let's go as spirits.
I appreciate the feedback in catching some items I missed or was confusing.
Take care and have a good Sunday.
What a nice twist, an unexpected interpretation of the prompt. Beautifully written story, My feedback:
4.>he has a cousin who infiltrated the the , repeated word
Hello @diebitch. Thank you so much for visiting and taking the time to read my story. So happy to hear you liked my twists. I appreciate your feedback on the following:
Take care.
I had to read twice but I got it ,
Thanks for a new blog possibility in free write
Yes, loglines. They are different from prompt. The Ink Well is having a two week writing contest based upon loglines. To see all 50 logline suggestions, check out The Ink Wwll's official contest post. Some great story lines. However, I had a story in mind, and none of the loglines fit exactly.
I will try some others out later. Also, the 50 prompts they introduced were great. i believe you participated in one for the library.
Appreciate you stopping by. Take care and have a good rest of your week.
Yes, loglines. They are different from prompt. The Ink Well is having a two week writing contest based upon loglines. To see all 50 logline suggestions, check out The Ink Wwll's official contest post. Some great story lines. However, I had a story in mind, and none of the loglines fit exactly.
I will try some others out later. Also, the 50 prompts they introduced were great. i believe you participated in one for the library.
Appreciate you stopping by. Take care and have a good rest of your week.