#frank wiles

[sherlockianscholar]

some (a lot of) illustrations from valley of fear by my favorite holmes' artist, frank wiles

[dailyholmes]

"'Cut out the poetry, Watson,' said Holmes severly." The Adventure of the Retired Colourman. Published in The Strand Magazine. Frank Wiles, 1927

Source

[midstpodcast]

ASTOUNDING AERIAL ART 💠 💎 💠

Prismatically fantastic artwork of #UNEND's supernatural ship by the brilliant Frank Liu awaits in the art downloads section of Midst.co to delight the eyes and enrapture the mind!

SEE THE FULL PIECE 🧡

[skullislandproductions]

Baby Road Runner watches as baby Wile E. is about to experience the effects of gravity for the first time. “Little Go Beep” poster design by Tim Cahill, painted by Alan Bodner, lettering painted by Bill Franks, on a coffee mug given to the crew.

[gasogene]

i find it strangely hilarious that if you google the quote, "your life is not your own, keep your hands off it," it will tell you that it is not from ACD's work and that it is originally from the lying detective episode of BBC sherlock..? it is literally a quote from the adventure of the veiled lodger in the case-book of sherlock holmes...holmes says it to eugenia ronder...

[incorrectlooneytunesquotes]

A composer is a gent who goes around forcing his will on unsuspecting air molecules, often with the assistance of unsuspecting musicians.

Wile E. Coyote to Carl Stalling

[voncel]

Mac is literally the cleanest of the gang, I don’t care that they dropped his bossiness a bit in later seasons but he was still the one cleaning Charlie and Frank’s apartment in “Mac and Dennis break up”, so I’ll just take that scene as representative of his entire character from now on, thank you very much

But seriously, it makes sense. We’ve seen his mom, how she’s a mess alone (and his father wouldn’t make much of a difference if he was present). Lots of people that grow up in an uncaring and messy environment tend to grow up and take cleaningness very seriously. I speak from personal experience when I say I get anxious when I see a messy bedroom precisely because it brings me back to my early childhood. Mac took the role of “man of the house” very seriously after his father went to jail, it’s very evident his bossiness and need to take care of people came from that. He NEEDS Dennis to need him, because if he doesn’t, what’s preventing him from just leaving?

Speaking of Dennis, I wouldn’t describe him as clean like other people have. He’s not messy, he likes to have things organized, but only to the extent of his own willingness to clean. I actually think Dennis would be very laidback in general, he grew up with maids and butlers and never actually lived on his own. His college dorm must’ve been a hellsite, though the majority of dorms usually are. Mac cleans after Dennis, metaphorically and literally.

This then leads me to think a bit more about their living dynamics (though I dwelve into more headcanon-y territory) like how Dennis probably takes care of the money aspects (tbf Frank’s credit card takes care of it), Mac does grocery shopping because I think if Dennis did it, he’d come back with like 4 protein bars and some apples to last them the whole month. Mac totally cleans Dennis’ room, atleast in minor ways like dusting and taking out the trash, wile Dennis keeps their apartment tidy by decorating shelves or keeping things in their places. It’s a silent part of their living arrangement and the kind of thing they’d never trade off.

[rknchan]

why is nobody talking about eugenia ronder she's the most interesting female character from acd canon to me ... and her story is so tragic ... and she suffered so much yet she still resists the temptation to take poison ... and holmes thinks of her as a brave and unusual woman and feels a bit of pride for dissuading her from killing herself

AND HER IMAGERY ........ its going to haunt me forever

(illustrators: frederic dorr steele(1), frank wiles(2), oleg pakhomov (3)

i love you eugenia ronder i love you eugenia 'the example of patient suffering in this unpatient world' ronder

[holmesillustrations]

Dogs Bracket is here! It turns out a lot of these dogs are horses, but there was exactly 32, which is perfect for our purposes 🐶🐴🦁

Currently on Semifinals

Most of us are i think familiar enough with the stories that this wont be a surprise, but just in case i do want to warn that a few of these illustrations feature violence against or by the animals in question, i'll tag those specifically when we get to their polls as 'animal violence'

Full list of competitors under cut:

(Illustrations in blue were already out, those in green have been newly eliminated)

[Colliers Cover Illustration] Missing Three-quarter, FD Steele

"On the ledge of rock above this strange couple stood three noble buzzards" Study in Scarlet, Charles Doyle

"He laid his hand upon the glossy neck." Silver Blaze, Sidney Paget

"Close to the door of the cage lay Mrs. Ronder, with the creature squatting and snarling above her." Veiled Lodger, FD Steele

"Silver Blaze" Silver Blaze, Sidney Paget

"Phosphorous!" I said. Hound of the Baskervilles, Sidney Paget

"THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES." Hound of the Baskervilles, Sidney Paget

"There's our man, Watson! Come along." Hound of the Baskervilles, Sidney Paget

"The carriage rattled past." Missing Three-quarter, Sidney Paget

"There in the centre lay the unhappy maid where she had fallen" Hound of the Baskervilles, Sidney Paget

"THE DRIVER POINTED WITH HIS WHIP—'BASKERVILLE HALL,' SAID HE" Hound of the Baskervilles, Sidney Paget

"I SAW HIS EYES FIX THEMSELVES OVER MY SHOULDER." Hound of the Baskervilles, Sidney Paget

"Holmes crouched behind the bush with the dog as the carriage approached." Shoscombe Old Place, FD Steele

"Running up, I blew its brains out." Copper Beeches, Sidney Paget

"Holmes gazed at it and then passed on." Abbey Grange, Sidney Paget

[Mycroft's brougham] Final Problem, Harry C. Edwards

[Woman with horse] Shoscombe Old Place, FD Steele

"As I slipped the bars it bounded out, and was on me in an instant." Veiled Lodger, FD Steele

"The dog sniffed round for an instant, and then with a shrill whine of excitement started off down the street." Missing Three-quarter, Sidney Paget

"Dog and man were rolling on the ground together, the one roaring in rage, the other screaming in a strange shrill falsetto of terror." Creeping Man, HK Elcock

"Holmes darted forward and barred their way." Lady Frances Carfax, Alec Ball

"They bundled him into a cab that was beside the kerb" Red Circle, HM Brock

[The professor and his dog] Creeping Man, FD Steele

"Holmes emptied five barrels of his revolver into the creature's flank." Hound of the Baskervilles, Sidney Paget

"We got off, paid our fare." Speckled Band, Sidney Paget

"We were to go to the theatre… suddenly he darted away into the fog." Bruce-Partington Plans, FD Steele

[MacPherson's Dog on the beach] Lion's Mane, FD Steele

"THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES." [Frontispiece] Hound of the Baskervilles, Sidney Paget

"How far to Wallington?" Cardboard Box, Sidney Paget

""Too late, Watson; too late!" cried Holmes" Solitary Cyclist, Sidney Paget

[Lion] Veiled Lodger, FD Steele

"At the same moment Holmes stepped out and released the spaniel." Shoscombe Old Place, Frank Wiles

Full graphic with nothing greyed out:

And finally, i wanted to include every animal illustration, but i did leave out the two from Blue Carbuncle with dead geese, those are not dogs they are ingredience.

Edit: I realised i completely messed up the order of polls in the original bracket, all fine for round 1's results but would have caused problems for round 2. The current one is correct, but obviously had to be shuffled around a lot, so the numbers by each one show their order from round 1 for future reference, sorry bout that!

[mrsalwayswrite]

All I Long For - Chapter 1 (Billy Russo x fem!reader)

So I recently joined The Punisher fandom and oops, now I'm obsessed with Billy. The idea for this series wouldn't leave me alone so here we are. A huge shout-out to @e-dubbc11 for their fantastic Billy fics and the encouragement to write my own!

One thing to note- in this fic, Billy never worked for Rawlings and Frank's family is alive.

Summary: You were there for the job only, just make it through the weekend and get paid. But it's never that easy or simple when Billy Russo shows up. When seeing him uncovers feelings you thought long buried, tainted by heartache. You just had to keep your head down and survive the weekend, then things could return to normal. Unless Billy had his way…

Words: 2400

Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

Staring up at the vast, brick mansion, you wondered what you had gotten yourself into. 

This job had come highly recommended from your new neighbors, a lovely middle-aged couple who were kind enough to put in a good word for you with the business owner. Someone they apparently knew. Not long after, you found yourself working for a catering company after hastily moving to New York City. It was not the job you wanted but it paid the bills. 

And it was those suffocating bills which were the only reason you were going to set foot into that mansion. 

Not that you hated the job, per se. It certainly was not what you wanted to do with your life, nor what you got a college degree in; but your boss was fair and most of your coworkers were fine, so you refrained from complaining too much. The hours were detrimental for a social life but that was not why you moved to NYC. Most of the events you worked at were weddings or charity functions for fancy, rich people. Somewhere it was easy enough to blend into the background, to just be another faceless person. A fact you were content with. 

Now you found yourself staring at a massive mansion just on the outskirts of NYC for a four-day weekend. 

Two weeks ago, your boss called asking if you would be willing to work for a long weekend at an estate outside of the city. Some rich guy had rented out the place for him and his friends for a weekend away and he had hired the catering company to provide food. Of course, your boss mentioned that because of the extended hours, you could be getting far more than your regular rate. Apparently, the rich guy was very generous with his money for these sorts of events. 

With those bills glaring at you, mocking you, how could you refuse? 

So with trepidation tickling your spine and determination a helmet over your mind, you grabbed your suitcase from the back of the van you and some of your coworkers had piled into. Holding your head high, you walked into the estate, hoping the weekend would pass uneventfully.  

If only you had known….

*****

“Holy shit, I can't believe we're actually here!” Beth squealed, standing by your side. 

Currently, the small catering crew waited in the kitchen for the head chef to return, all while snooping around the space they would be spending the majority of their time over the long weekend. 

The arrival of the rich man and his friends hung over everyone with barely concealed anticipation. The guests would arrive in several hours, due mid-afternoon on Friday, stay over the weekend and leave on Monday mid-morning. Which meant the catering crew arrived Friday late morning to settle in, get a layout for the estate and begin prep work. 

The estate's manager was kind enough to give a tour, showing where the catering crew would be sleeping. Which turned out to be in the basement in several rooms set up like dorms to the disdain of particular persons. The special guests would be staying in the luxurious rooms on the upper floors. In addition, the estate boasted several rooms for the guests to wile away their time in. In a separate part of the basement was a large in-house movie theater, with an additional room set up with the latest gaming console and large TV, specifically ordered for this weekend. On the main floor was an indoor heated pool, hot tub and sauna. There was a massage room for the guests to book appointments, if desired. Near the lavish dining room was a space with a pool table, short bar set-up and tables with various card and board games. 

Outdoors held a large terrace off the back, leading down to the greens of a golf course. On either side of the course were thick woods that went for acres to allow guests privacy from neighbors or paparazzi. 

“It's beautiful.” You admitted, leaning back on the metal countertop. “I can't imagine how much this place costs to rent.”

Lana scoffed from down the line, adjusting her ponytail. “I bet this didn't even put a dent in his wealth. The man could burn money for fun.”

“He doesn't have to burn money to get his rocks off,” Ashley winked, then gave her shoulders a little shimmy, “he just needs to take me on a date. I'll show him such a good time, he'll beg to have me again.”

Lana laughed. “He never goes on a second date. Everyone knows that.”

“I never said nothin’ about a second date. He'll beg me to be in his bed every night!” 

Beth smiled over at the two across the large island. “Play your cards right and you might get the chance this weekend. I know he didn't hire any kind of female entertainment so...”

“God, I hope so!” Lana groaned. “He's so hot it's unfair. I swear all he'd have to do is flash that big smile of his at me and my underwear will be soaked.”

Ashley hummed in agreement, running a finger absent-mindedly along her lower lip. “Mmmm…I'd get on my knees in a heartbeat for him. Hell, I bet he even tastes good.”

“Think he's a tits or ass man?”

Donovan walked past the four women carrying a crate of fruit. “Maybe I'll try and flirt my way into his bed.”

“What would your boyfriend say?!” Ashley chuckled.  

He shrugged, setting the crate down along the counter. “Oh, we've already talked. Billy Russo would be a hall pass, for damn sure.”

At the name, static filled your ears. Any further conversation around you was muted by the buzzing in your mind. Fingers gripped the countertop painfully. Your heart raced, pounded within your chest as realization hit you like a sledgehammer. 

“Beth…”

She glanced over at your near whisper. “Yeah? Hey, you okay there?”

“Who–” you licked your lips, forcing the words to come out of your suddenly parched throat, past the lump and turmoil building within you, “who hired us? Who's the rich guy coming?”

“Oh, didn't you hear? It's Mr Billy Russo. He's the CEO of Anvil…”

And there was that static again, threatening to drown your senses but you forced yourself to listen. 

“...yeah, I guess he rented out the place for himself and some of his military buddies to come have a boys’ weekend or something like that.”

“Oh…okay. I–I'm gonna step outside for a minute. Excuse me.” Without waiting for a response, you hurried away, moving through the lower passages that were clearly meant for ‘the help’ and away from the main house. 

It was not until you stepped outside, the warm, summer air filling your lungs that you felt like you could take a deep breath. Panic fogged up your mind, filling you with equal parts dread and curiosity. It had been years since you last saw Billy Russo in person. Selfishly, you wondered what he would think seeing you again. Just imagining seeing him had your heart fluttering, desperate to fulfill that childish wish. Yet accompanying that longing was the shards of pain and hurt always attached to his name now for you. 

The conflicting emotions tore at you, eating away what contentment you held for the busy weekend. A rigidness zapped your muscles, making you tense as if ready to flee, to claim something had to come up and you needed to get back to the city. You knew Peter would understand, your boss was considerate, especially if you lied and said something happened with one of your grandparents. You could do it…

“Hey…you okay there?”

You looked over your shoulder at Beth, clearly having followed you out. “Yeah, yeah. Just…fine.”

“Yeah, I can smell the bullshit all over that.” She lazily walked over to stand next to you. You both stared out over the manicured lawn for a long moment before she spoke again. “Is it something about Russo? You seemed to panic when you heard his name.”

You shifted uncomfortably, the duality of hurt and hope creating a painful symphony in your chest. “I just– I didn't realize it was for him, you know? I don't know. It's stupid.”

“What? That he's walking sex on legs?”

You choked, not wanting that imagine in your head…even if you would never admit out loud how you knew already.

She laughed at your reaction, before nudging your elbow with hers. “What's it then?”

“Um, I just… I don't know. I guess I thought the party was gonna be a bunch of rich frat boys or something. Not…not Anvil and you know, military guys.”

“Will that be a problem? Do you need to leave?”

“No. It's fine.” You tried to say confidently but even to your own ears, your voice sounded strained. “I promise I'm okay. I was just caught off guard.” 

She stared at you as if unsure whether to believe you or not before finally shrugging. “Okay, well say something if you need to leave. Shit, I thought you were about to pass out.”

“I will, thanks.”

“Ready to go back in? Peter is about to start passing out assignments.”

“Yeah.” 

After taking a deep breath, allowing the summer air to swirl in your lungs once more, you followed Beth back to the large kitchen. Standing around and listening to the head chef, Peter, explain what everyone's role was for the weekend and how they had better not fuck it up, you tried to focus on the task at hand. 

Your insecurities, your fears, crept along the edges of your mind, taunting you, but you dutifully ignored them. 

The rational side of your mind repeated repetitively how you had a job here, tasks to do. You would barely have time to rest, let alone lounge around for Billy to notice you. Plus, it had been so long you doubted he would even recognize you. He would be spending time with his friends…not paying attention to you. 

You knew how to be a wallflower, you knew how to blend into the background. This weekend, you hoped that was all you would be.  

*****

It was hours later when you finally saw Billy. 

You attempted to remain in the kitchen, picking up extra tasks to help out and finding every excuse not to leave, especially once Billy and his rowdy friends arrived. There were about twelve men total in their group and you knew feeding twelve ex-military men would mean a lot of food. 

Unfortunately, your plan was thwarted when they needed help bringing plates out to the dining room and its several tables. 

Girding your loins and silently praying for divine intervention, you kept your face down as you helped carry out a large tray lauded down with full plates. For the first night, Billy requested plated dinners instead of the typical buffet. 

Smiling and flirting, Ashley passed out the plates on your tray, you just had to hold the tray steady. For a split second, you were immensely grateful for her more enthusiastic, outgoing personality, masking your poor attempts at subterfuge. 

The atmosphere in the dining room was jovial with the men looking forward to the weekend. Riotous laughter and teasing conversations filled the air. A smile graced your lips as you listened to these battle-hardened men who currently sounded like boys off at summer camp, talking about what they wanted to do and making competitive bets. 

It was then you happened to glance across the table as you readjusted the tray in your hands, only to freeze as a pair of dark onyx eyes stared straight at you. 

Your mind blanked as you met his gaze, unable to read the emotion behind his eyes as they stared at you. You used to be able to know, you used to be able to read him with just a look…but that was years ago when you were both younger and different people. 

Since the rise of Anvil and Billy‘s influence, you could not escape seeing pictures of him in tabloids or online of people lusting over him. Yet those pictures epically failed compared to him in the flesh. That jawline that begged to be traced with lips. Those dark eyes that pierced and entranced. Plush lips that were meant to be tasted and bitten. A lithe body that radiated raw power. There was something about Billy, a seductive magnetism that drew people around him, like he was the sun and people fell into his orbit and were unable or unwilling to escape. 

He maintained keeping your gaze captive, unwilling to release you from the visual bondage. All the while, your mind was infuriatingly blank. Then after a long moment, you watched his eyes crinkle, those plush lips turn upward, that million dollar smile people swooned over…

…and your breath caught in your throat, chest tightening, as you easily read the joy in his beguiling eyes. 

“Hey, can you grab the other tray, please?”

Ashley's question jolted you back to reality, like a bucket of ice water tossed over your head. A flush warmed your cheeks and you stuttered out some form of acceptable agreement before darting back towards the kitchen without looking back. Mentally, you scolded yourself for practically standing there ogling Billy in front of his friends. You wanted to die at the vivid reminder of how you lost all sense of poise in front of him, degraded to a simpering idiot. But mostly, you hated how seeing him only proved how even with a glance and a smile, he still made you yearn…

Thankfully, you were able to foist the job onto Donavan, who was happy to ogle handsome men. You fell back into step with the order and needs of the kitchen, trying to ignore the memory of those dark eyes watching you, of his breathtaking smile…

You shook the thoughts from your head. You just had to make it through the weekend, keep your head down and stay in the kitchen. He was here for his friends, not you. You just had to make it the four days without doing anything stupid. Then…then everything would return to normal. Then you would go back to NYC and to your new life. Once you were no longer in his line of sight, he would forget about you. 

Again. 

Thanks for reading!

[dailyholmes]

"Holmes's eyes were gleaming with excitement, and his thin, nervous fingers twitched as he counted the words - 'danger.' 'Ha! Ha! Capital! Put that down, Watson.'" The Valley of Fear. Published in The Strand Magazine. Frank Wiles, 1914-1915

Source

[townsenddecades]

1333 – Day 4 – Tovar Chapel

It still feels somewhat non-real when they gather for Sir Silas’ and Amye’s wedding in the Tovar Chapel a fortnight later. They have decided on a small ceremony, just the Townsend family as witnesses, but the rest of their kin is well aware of what is happening. Anna, despite her despondence over her younger daughter’s disappearance, has even gifted her one of her fine dresses to wear for their occasion, along with a matching wreath. She has sent her a hairnet too, to put her hair up in afterwards, but she wears it loose for the wedding, as is customary.

She is only the second of her siblings to be married – which is no great feat, given that Adeline and Frank are barely adolescents, and John is only a toddler – so Benjamin and Malika can, once again, not help the occasion feeling bittersweet.

Although they have to admit that this time around, there is some relief mixed in as well – not just because they know that their darling girl is well-settled, but because she has finally gathered the courage to confess that she is already carrying Sir Silas’ child. They want to fault her for it, but chiding her for giving herself to him after he had promised marriage would be extremely hypocritical, given that this is exactly how they celebrated their engagement.

“Well, if she has twins now, I’m sure my parents will have a good laugh about that in the afterlife”, Benjamin tells his wife privately after that. Malika thinks that after everything that has happened, Benedict and Anne deserve to laugh about their descendants’ antics.

One more important thing happens before the wedding, however: Frank returns from Praaven, to replace his elder sister, who is set to leave home after the wedding, on the farm. Leaving the atelier is a bit bittersweet for him, but he has brought some materials with him to continue his painting craft at home, should he have the time. And he is glad to see his mother and siblings again, after the many years without direct contact.

Although to be fair, he demands a long explanation about why his sister is marrying a knight, how long this has been planned, and why they have kept his courtship of her so hushed-up. Amye nearly slaps Malcolm when he gleefully recounts how she seduced Sir Silas into marriage with her ‘feminine wiles’, but he is swift enough to dodge the assault.

The interlude leaves a bittersweet feeling in Amye’s chest. She is unexpectedly excited to become Sir Silas’ wife – far more so than she ever dreamed of – but everything that kept her from wishing to remain unwed before is still true. She loves living on the farm with her family; the closeness, the banter, the care they take of their land and their livestock. As the wife of a knight, she will have an entirely different life. One not only unfamiliar, but maybe not what she wishes for, either.

Her one comfort is that they won’t move far, just a ways beyond the river, close to where her uncle Robert’s family resides.

Still, she is nervous as she dons her wedding finery and lets her mother brush out her hair, bunching the fine fabric in her fists. But she tries to calm herself.

Sir Silas loves her enough to take her without status or dowry. He will make sure that she is happy. She is certain of that much.

The ceremony goes off without a hitch. Sir Silas – who is also been informed of his impending fatherhood, to which he reacted with great joy – and Amye say their vows, the priest pronounces them as united before the Watcher’s eyes, never to be parted by earthly means, and just like that, simple Amye Townsend becomes Amye, Lady Ellesmere.

Sir Silas couldn’t be happier.

He had believed himself happy with Elea, once. It was probably that, and the wish to see his daughter Mariora, that has compelled him to returnt to the woods again and again, even as he noticed that he was becoming nothing but a security policy to his wife.

But it had been no true marriage. Oh, he had kept to it out of honour, but no one had known about it, and he had spent his life realizing that the woman he married had had no interest in truly having him as a husband, much less as a father to her child. But he had refused to abandon her, even if when could have easily done so. It had taken her setting him free to even think about marriage to another woman.

But no one knows about this misery, and no one will ever know, particularly not his sweet new wife. He had believed himself too old to wed again, but it is his dearest hope that with Amye by his side, he will spend the last years of his life in happiness, and that he will leave enough to allow her and this little one they are expecting to live in comfort.

And he can’t help a glow of pride in his chest, disadvantagous marriage or not, when he takes her hand in his after the customary kiss to turn towards her cheering family.

He believes, he hopes dearly, that they will be happy, for as long as the Watcher wills it.  

Silas takes Amye to the holding he arranged for them after the wedding festivities. The place formerly belonged to some other family of good standing, but through the help of the earl, he has been able to procure it, to serve as his and Amye’s marital home. Duty will still call him to town sometimes, but he is getting old, and ready to step down as captain of the guard, with Sir Robert as his designated successor. He doesn’t grudge his former protégée the honour - settling down in the countryside with his beautiful, young new wife sounds like the far nicer way of spending his final years.

He has only shown Amye the outside of the place yet, and she gasps when he opens the door to lead her in.

The house itself is simple, only a one-room dwelling with a barn nearby, but the furnishings are far finer than any peasant could ever afford. There is a big stone hearth, a carved table with chairs that have actual back- and armrests, and, most importantly, a big marital bed with curtains. Truth be told, it is more luxurious than even his quarters at the barracks.

“My Lady Ellesmere likes it, I take it?”, he asks her fondly.

“Your Lady Ellesmere likes it very much, indeed”, his young wife replies, breathless. “I can’t believe I’m to live here from now on.”

“You better start believing it soon, because I’ve had it furnished especially for us. That is part of the reason why it took me so long to ask your father for your hand. I wanted to make sure we had a home.”

“You could have done that while being officially engaged.”

“That’s true.” He smiles at her, slipping his arm around her waist. “But truthfully, your Ladyship, I wanted to be able to wed you as soon as possible once our promise to each other became common knowledge.”

She stares up at him, a soft look on her lovely face. “I still can’t quite believe this is real”, she whispers. “A twelvemonth ago, I couldn’t have imagined that I would end the year married, a lady, living in this splendid house, and expecting a child.”

Automatically, his hand drifts down to her stomach, which is only very slightly curved as yet. But first pregnancies are like that sometimes, he has been told. More than anything else, he relishes the chance to become a father, a true father, again. He only wishes that he was younger; he fears he may no longer be alive by the time this child enters adolescence.

“I can’t quite believe it, either”, he says, raising his gaze again. “But I’m excited to see what the future holds.”

“So am I, dear sir”, his wife replies with a smile. “So am I.”

Previous: 1333, Day 4, Part 5/6 <--> Next: 1333 Statistic

[skullislandproductions]

The “wet cement” image, from my previous post, here, painted by Craig Kelly, as it appears in the credits for “Little Go Beep,” with the list of animators, as well as an acknowledgment to the great Chuck Jones.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

The Ladies Whistledown - chapter ten

Pairing: Eloise x Penelope Rating: T Word Count: 3225

read on tumblr: one | two | three | four | five | six seven | eight | nine

As Marina Thompson, Penelope’s cousin had been a dangerous acquaintance for her to have. As the widowed Lady Crane, she was quite safe, quite respectable, and quite welcome back into the bosom of the Featherington family. It had not taken half a minute for Penelope to see this was not a welcome Marina particularly craved. Certainly, she was not needful of it, not now.

They had come in mourning, of course: Penelope, her mama, and Prudence. Philippa and Mr. Finch had joined them for the funeral, but Philippa had never had their mother’s scheming mind, and so lacked the wiles or inclination to hang about the Crane estate, waiting to see if Marina might find a use for her—and what that use might be worth.

Penelope had never felt so ashamed of her mother as in the first days of their stay. It was all too obvious that the woman who had once treated a young lady in precarious circumstances so shabbily was now attempting, sickeningly, to ingratiate herself with the titled, landed widow Marina had become. Penelope did not blame Marina for her coldness, or think her wicked for failing to shed a tear over her husband’s body in their presence. She owed them nothing, to Penelope’s mind. It was not their business whether Marina’s reserve was due to shock, the absence of grief, or simply not wanting Penelope’s mama to see her cry.

Following a week of nearly threadbare civility, Penelope’s mama took their hostess’s hint and departed with Prudence. Finally, Marina warmed a little. Penelope was there to receive it, and to stoke the faintly glowing embers of the girl she remembered as best she could.

“They are beautiful children,” Penelope praised.

They were in the nursery, watching over Marina’s babbling twins. This had been Penelope’s excuse; she would stay to help with Amanda and Oliver. As she was the younger of the unmarried Featherington daughters, her offer had been a logical one. Her mother did not require her for anything. She was easily spared. Still, Penelope had exhaled in relief when Marina accepted. It did not take long for Penelope to recognize that she had not been kept for her assistance with the children but as a companion for their mother. This was perfectly alright with her. She was only too eager—after she had used Whistledown to decimate her cousin’s marriage prospects, almost ruining her life—to make reparations where she could.

“They are caring and sweet. They are their father’s children,” Marina remarked, and Penelope guessed it was not to the late Sir Phillip her cousin referred.

“Do they…” Penelope bit her tongue, holding herself back from asking the impertinent question which had arisen all too quickly in her mind.

“Please just ask,” Marina said. Her voice was tired, her plea honest in its weariness. This was part of what she had hidden from the rest of the family.

Penelope took a breath.

“Do they miss Sir Phillip, do you think? Do they feel his loss?”

They had been standing, but Penelope’s questions compelled Marina to guide her over to the settee. For a moment, they watched the toddlers play.

“They are young, but they are more sensitive than you might imagine,” Marina explained. “Though his memory will grow a little dimmer for them each day, I do hope they retain something of it. Phillip was always most kind to them.”

Penelope eyed her cousin’s profile cautiously.

“…And to you?” she ventured.

Marina turned to gaze at her straight-on. Her expression was proud, challenging. She would not be pitied.

“As kind as I allowed him to be,” Marina said.

Penelope nodded to acknowledge this. She assumed that was to be the end of the conversation. Though Marina had not volunteered much, she had been frank and patient with Penelope. She did not say, Penelope, you could not understand. You have no husband, you have no children. Your ignorant inquiries are a trial. She did not say, Go home to your mama, little girl. She did not say, Penelope Featherington, what could you know of love?

Penelope did not presume love was their subject—except when Marina spoke of her children. She knew her cousin’s marriage had been pure practicality, and could see easily enough that tenderer feelings did not seem to have blossomed during Marina’s two years with Sir Phillip. She was a little surprised when her cousin spoke again, but not at the practical bent of her words.

“We have a comfortable house,” Marina said, gesturing about them, “and Phillip made provisions to ensure our continued residence. My son is a baronet.”

Smiling, Penelope momentarily bent to stroke the small back of this little baronet as he played with his wooden blocks.

“I am so glad you and the children are secure,” Penelope said. She was—more than Marina would ever know.

“We are deeply fortunate. I should not wish for more.”

“But you do.”

“Is it so easily guessed?” Marina wondered.

The question was not asked harshly. Penelope smiled gently in return.

“I knew you before,” she said.

Before—such a word! Every passing moment became a “before,” and even the “before” to which Penelope referred had not been so very long ago. What she meant by the word was the season Marina had passed with her family at Featherington House. When she said “before,” she knew she conjured for them both nights of secret camaraderie, letters passed between them which amounted to a sustaining correspondence, half-comprehended hints regarding the genesis of Marina’s condition. Sitting with Marina now worked to take Penelope back there, to that bedchamber and time. During that brief period, Marina had come to feel more like a sister to Penelope than Prudence or Philippa ever had. She could not help longing for a renewal of the confidence they had once shared. More than that, she wanted to be worthy of it.

“All I wanted then was my great love story,” Marina said.

“And you had it,” Penelope promised her, reaching for her hand and clutching it hard. “You may yet have another.”

“What if Phillip was the only other chance I will get?”

At last, Marina wept. Penelope held her close and felt the silent tears her cousin cried on her shoulder, the swaying rack of her body. Penelope’s eyes were wide with a mix of confusion and sympathy. She marveled at both Marina’s dread and her huge capacity for love—for these tears were surely for George, Sir Phillip, and herself, all at once. Much as she had done with Oliver, Penelope rubbed Marina’s back and tried to understand. Marriage, love, devotion—all of it was so much more complicated than Lady Whistledown ever properly made it out to be. What of the older eligible ladies, like Cressida Cowper? What of the once-engaged, like Prudence? What of the widows who had tasted love (whether in their marriage or elsewhere) and now stared stoically ahead at a future which seemed to promise only loneliness?

“I shall love you,” Penelope avowed fiercely. “Whatever else may happen, you shall have me.”

Though it was likely not enough, it was the truth, and for once, it was a truth that would not do Marina harm.

—

With one thing and another, and with not being in Mayfair, Penelope and Eloise did not see each other for a while, and in the meantime, summer fell deeper and deeper into autumn until a day came when the breeze no longer bore the heady scent of flowers. The breeze was no longer warm either. The days grew steadily shorter, and more and more often brought rain, October’s purplish-grey clouds swaying across the sky like windswept violets of May.

Penelope did not mind this dark, wet weather in the slightest as it was the perfect weather for writing. Her mama did not make her go out, rather bemoaning the lashing rain herself and shutting herself up with Varley to confront the family accounts instead of sashaying her way to teas and bridge parties, which would only have risked the ruin of her fascinators and silks. Prudence—staying with the Finches for a spell—was likewise occupied, so Penelope felt quite free to sit at her desk and scribble the hours away. There was nothing so pleasant, in her opinion, as the certitude of not being interrupted.

She put to paper idle thoughts and organized bits of gossip about unsavory gentlemen. She was compiling an account on each one; none of it need be published, unless a man should attempt to take in a debutante and her relations—at which point, Lady Whistledown would reveal all. This act of preparation was a satisfaction in itself, and one of the items Penelope made sure to keep Eloise apprised of in their frequent letters. Letters to Eloise were, naturally, Penelope’s very favourite things to write.

However, Eloise’s replies were not always wholly pleasing. There was nothing so awful as a portent of another violent rending of their friendship. No, their friendship was as firm as ever it had been, for which fact Penelope remained grateful every day. Unfortunately, Eloise’s generous and forgiving heart seemed to have lately made room for another—not another best friend, not a rival, but another. Penelope might not have been so troubled by the connection had it not been with Cressida Cowper.

Not unpleasant—that was how Eloise had described an afternoon recently spent in Cressida’s presence. Evidently, they had not come together by design, but found themselves neglected in the same drawing room corner. A conversation that had been struck up for perfunctory politeness had unexpectedly, Eloise had written, become almost delightful after she had made a dry joke which provoked an unexpected laugh from Cressida. Penelope had frowned reading this. Did she want Eloise to be lonely? No. Did she wish for Cressida’s misery? Rarely! But Penelope could not help it, she did not like the thought of Eloise and Cressida becoming friends. It gave her a sick feeling she quickly recognized as jealousy.

But as the letters continued to come, Penelope learned to endure mention of Cressida. It was Penelope Eloise was writing to, Penelope with whom Eloise shared her feelings and impressions. There could be no doubt that they remained first in one another’s thoughts. This cheered Penelope through every thunderstorm, her nib scratching across yet another page of their rich correspondence.

Penelope grew so used to her solitude that she was surprised the day Varley poked her head through the door to announce a visitor. She wondered if it might be Marina, though she could not imagine her cousin returning to this house with much eagerness, or shepherding the twins hither. Perhaps something else had happened and necessity compelled her to come, putting Oliver and Amanda’s wellbeing above her own feelings. Perhaps they were to be turned out of the Crane estate! It had not been terribly long since Featherington House had nearly been snatched from Penelope’s family as easily as a dollhouse from three garishly-dressed dolls; she remembered very well thinking she had been about to lose her home right after losing her papa. She remembered the fear.

Coming out from behind her desk, Penelope hurried to the door of her bedchamber, but Varley blocked her way. She touched Penelope’s arm and spoke softly: “It is Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Colin?”

Varley nodded.

Well, that was… Penelope was glad it was not an emergency. She presumed it was not, though it was odd of Colin to visit her. Here. Alone. For the briefest moment, as Penelope strode to the drawing room, she suspected Eloise must be with him. But no, she knew Varley would have said.

Sure enough, Colin stood alone in the room. Penelope felt deeply relieved that, for once, her mother had ventured out, despite the rain. When she entered, Colin turned and greeted her with a smile. Penelope returned it, then looked back at Varley.

“It is only Colin,” she said.

“Yes, Miss.”

It took no more than that to convince Varley to leave them unchaperoned, even closing the door on her way out. Penelope had never found Varley to be an unkind creature, but the woman certainly thought very much as Penelope’s mama did on most subjects, not excluding the eligibility of a certain youngest daughter. Colin was no danger to her, they clearly believed, and this was because she was not the sort of young lady he would be dangerous with should they find themselves shut in a room together. Penelope would not dwell on it. She received her visitor with pleasure.

“Shall I call for tea?” she offered.

“No, thank you,” Colin said. “I would prefer we remain undisturbed.”

He took a seat on the chaise and looked expectantly at her. As Penelope moved to join him, she felt a soft flutter in her chest. It was not the butterfly sensation she had once experienced when he made her laugh or pressed her hand or caught her eye with a certain mischief in his. It felt more like that sensation’s echo. She had not thought about his words to the other gentlemen about her in some time. When she prodded the memory now, Penelope discovered it did not ache the way it used to, and her image of Colin, while no longer the faultless golden portrait it had been, had not been razed. It was simply more complete.

“I am surprised by your visit,” she confessed once seated. “Your sister mentioned you were to embark on your travels.”

“Eloise does not mislead you.” Colin smiled.

“I imagined you might already be away.”

He tilted his head thoughtfully and said, “I meant to be. My plans… changed.”

“Do you now not intend to go? You once expressed such a desire to see Spain!”

Penelope could recall that particular conversation almost in full; the special affection she had held for Colin previously had seemed to make her memory of each encounter brighter than other memories. And what she had most loved to hear him speak of had been his travels—past and intended. It had not only been his vivid descriptions of places, foods, and peoples she had enjoyed, but how his face lit up when he was speaking of them.

“I do,” Colin assured her eagerly. “I will. It is only a delay—but, I believe, a significant one.”

“Whatever could you mean?” Penelope wondered.

She had spoken slightly woodenly. Between Colin’s words and his look, something alarmed her. If things had been different, if they had retained the closeness Colin might not yet be fully aware they had lost, she might have suspected the next words from her guest would be a proposal.

“May I tell you something, Pen?” he inquired earnestly. At Penelope’s faint nod, Colin revealed, “I mean to see Marina—Lady Crane.”

“Oh.”

She was still digesting this news when he went on, “Needless to say, I will need to allow some more time to pass, for propriety’s sake. Her husband’s death was so sudden—”

“You mean to ask Marina to marry you?” Penelope fairly blurted the question, and it was hardly a question, more a rush of understanding that escaped her brain through her mouth.

If the question was rude, Colin did not show it. He appeared far too caught up in his own plans, anxious and awkward, and yet determined—determined as Penelope felt she had never seen him before.

Indeed, he was blushing as he confirmed, “Yes, I think I do.”

“But why do you speak to me about it?” Penelope cried out.

She could not help her heightened emotional state. Here was Colin, who she had once wanted for herself, who had himself once wanted her cousin, whose chances Penelope had dashed in Whistledown. And now—and now!—Penelope no longer dreamed of being his wife, but she had seen Marina’s loneliness, and now saw before her Colin’s fervour for exactly the second chance for which Marina had seemed to pine. It was almost overwhelming. A feeling rose in Penelope which reminded her of how she had felt when Colin had been on the brink of proposing to Marina before. But it was only a memory of a feeling, and it subsided after a moment, and Penelope was able to avert her eyes from Colin’s face; she feared she may have been regarding him with something like horror.

“I suppose I thought…” Colin trailed off. “I…”

“Please, Colin.” Penelope heard herself, and thought it sounded like a plea for mercy for her younger self.

“I felt I had to come to you to… check it is alright before I proceed. I cannot quite explain, but I feel… I feel I need your blessing.” Penelope looked up at him then. His eyes implored her. “Do you know, I don’t believe I can do this without you.”

Penelope took a deep breath.

When she spoke, she said, “Of course you can.”

“Then perhaps I do not want to.”

“I think your pursuit of Marina would be most natural,” Penelope granted. “Circumstances”—me, she thought—“were against you in the past. If Marina is truly who you want, then you must try for her.”

“I have wanted no other,” Colin said. “Except…”

He looked Penelope in the eye for a moment then. She saw their shared history, and how, for one of them, a childhood of laughter and closeness had matured into dearer feelings. For the other, this had not happened, but the friendship had been rewarding nonetheless, the trust never knowingly breached. There was a flicker in Colin’s eyes that suggested there might have been a time—or even just a moment, a moment like this one—when he had seen what else they might have been to one another. Penelope blinked and Colin smiled at her in nothing more than friendship.

“I wish I knew if I had any chance,” he said. “Nothing is ever sure.”

“No,” Penelope agreed, “but it is not hopeless. Far from it. I think Marina will be most happy to see you.”

“And to receive my suit?”

Penelope smiled.

“I cannot speak for her.”

“If she does not discourage me—and I shall know at once; your cousin can be quite blunt—I will make Marina a promise before I go abroad. Our engagement may begin upon my return, when she is out of her mourning period. Does that seem…?”

“Entirely appropriate,” Penelope promised.

“Good. Thank you, Pen.” He put out his hand to her and they shook. When their hands dropped, Colin gave her a very serious look. “If I can ever do anything for you, you need only ask.”

“I ask only that you write to me during your travels. I do enjoy your letters.”

“That I can readily agree to, as I believe your enjoyment in reading them is surpassed only by my enjoyment in writing.”

Penelope understood this completely. The ink stains between her fingers and on the side of her hand were testaments to her own love of writing. While her pages did not contain adventurous tales of far-flung locales, they probed the human heart and mind, attempting to puzzle out some of their complexities. This study was a great undertaking in its own right.

When Colin departed to speak with Marina, Penelope returned to composing her latest letter to Eloise.

[incorrectlooneytunesquotes]

Putting on the spectacles of science in expectation of finding an answer to everything looked at signifies inner blindness.

Wile E. Coyote 

[swamprats4077]

Favorite Moments & Quotes ➡ 1.24 - Showtime

↪ Frank pranks Hawkeye.

This like if Wile E. Coyote caught the Road Runner. Of course Hawkeye gets Frank back in the end. 😄