#nootka sound

[hikayaking]

A peaceful pause.

[lyralu91]

🖤 To my James and Lorna fans out there 🖤 - this is what I'm working on at the moment:

“Now turn around,” he instructed. “Towards the mirror.”

“James, I really don’t see why -”

“- why what? Why I should see my wife naked? Mm? Or why you should be forced to face what is making you miserable?”

Might make it into two chapters, so those of you not interested in smut can skip the second part 😌

If you want more James and Lorna, check out my main fanfiction on AO3: "The river that connects us" - their journey from London to Nootka Sound!

To @tickettride and @justrainandcoffee - I haven't forgotten your requests! 😘 They're just stewing and brewing and waiting for "further inspiration" 🤓

[pestilentbrood]

Very Brief Clans Overview

Figured I should have a sooort of explanation post so people don't get too lost regarding lore things, especially because I hope to actually draw out more Lore Important Things at some point or another hehe.

This is just a quick breakdown of each clan in development so far. The titles of each will have a link to their tag on my blog if you'd like to view posts pertaining to That Clan!

Starting, of course, with:

The Incompetence

Nestled in a gorge along the Scarred Wastelands' shores, the Incompetence is a ragtag bunch of losers led by an arrogant fae named Patience. Said fae is hellbent on the idea of Fate, claiming he is the universe's specialiest boy of all time, and any that follow him are special as well. The dragons who come here do so under the assumption they are not fit to survive in the Wastelands' treacherous landscape. They are the weak, old, and battered. Surely they are not meant to see another day in this cruel existence, and they will die solemn, bitter, and alone. ...But due to some miracle, they've all gone on to live peacefully here. Together. Alive.

Perhaps there is something to our wacky leader's obsession with Fate...

[many more clans below!]

The Loyalty

And these are the antagonists.

The Loyalty is an old clan with a history spanning back centuries. Born out of nothing but unadulterated respect and servitude to the Plaguebringer, the Loyalty is a ruthless place that has only worsened over time, and any who disrespect them will meet the cruelest of punishments.

While originally a respectable bunch, the lot has grown merciless over the past few decades, with worse and worse dragons taking the mantle of leader. Our current leader is Cletus, a vindictive aberration dead set on making the Loyalty as vicious as possible.

All I'm saying is, steer clear of the Wyrmwound. There are beasts under there.

Wandering Threads

The Threads are a traveling group of veilspun led by Nootka. The swarm acts as one massive family, both literally and metaphorically (because nearly everyone involved is part of a big polygamous relationship), and honestly they're just having a great time.

Well, like, save for one horrible encounter with the Loyalty that happened recently. But don't worry about it.

Shadows of Doubt

You wanna commit thievery and have it go so wrong we start replacing our blood with liquid gold? Well come on over to the Foxfire Brambles and join us Shadows! ...Uh. I mean. Actually, don't worry about the liquid gold blood thing. Only Penumbra did that. Gloom, the other leader, is very normal in comparison. And disregard the infestation of bug fae. We're pretty normal here.

We just like to commit theft for these two silly siblings. Don't even worry about it.

Acolytes of the Arcanist

A mad-scientist prophet in the Starwood Strand has decided that the Arcanist's goals of reaching the heavens and controlling the universe sound really great, actually! Why don't we do that together? Through the limitless bounds of science, we will reach the stars and own them ourselves.

And won't you join us? The stars in your wings shine so... beautifully... :)

[REDACTED]

Everyone in this clan is canonically dead by the present day. All you need to know about it is that we tried so hard, and got so far. But in the end, it didn't even matter. Arcane and Light just can't get along for more than two minutes.

(we started a civil war not clickbait gone wrong. etc.)

The Adherence

Nolan is NOT the leader of the Adherence. I just don't have the leader(s) yet. So for now he's representing this place. Which is fitting enough, honestly.

The Adherence is a city of pearlcatchers that is currently flourishing somewhere in the Sunbeam Ruins. Don't ask me where, exactly. I just know it's in there. They run a very strict society where only light-inborn pearlcatchers can garner any amount of respect. Should you be born of a different flight, or worse, a different breed... You may come in, but you'll get a lot of scorn for it.

Unless you're an imperial. Then you're out of luck. Except for this really nice, not at all suspicious guy named Nolan who is offering you a peaceful sanctuary if you'll just follow him this way.

Excessive Library Damage

Ok, that's not the name of the clan. It just doesn't really have a name. Not yet.

Anyway, this is a crew of Aethers that crash-landed into the Wastelands, managing to break right through the surface of Sornieth's soil and into an ancient, abandoned library. Likely filled to the brim with incredible history of Sornieth that has been long since forgotten. And countless priceless artifacts.

...Oh. Nevermind. Oh, it's... it's all gone.

------------------------------------------------

SMALL GROUPS WHO AREN'T REALLY FULL-FLEDGED CLANS (YET, IN SOME CASES) BUT ARE STILL WORTH MENTIONING:

Twisted Waters

A pirate dies. Then she un-dies. It turns out the eldritch creature in the ocean, who is interested primarily in spiting her husband, has chosen this pirate to become queen of an underwater kingdom. And that pirate MUST get EVERYONE in the kingdom to love the eldritch beast unconditionally.

Because while the Tidelord may have abandoned you, Twist never will <3

Snow Shower Town

There's like multiple different plots happening here. But what's important is that this is MOSTLY based in a small town within the Icefields, wherein a bunch of dragons of varying flights are chilling and hanging out while trying not to die in the regular blizzards.

Also there's like. An ice witch nearby, but you can ignore her, she's totally not important.

William's Day Out

AHH. The Horrors...

William is a normal guy. The haunted baby is a normal baby. Lutka is a normal guy. The four siblings are all normal. Don't worry about it. STAY FAR AWAY FROM THE WISPWILLOW GROVE. I mean what who said that

Girl's Night

Hey, what happens in girls night stays in girls night, okay?

------------------------------------------------

EXTRAS

Out in the Worldedge Wetlands there's a very sad old man and an old woman who goes "take better care of yourself, old man" and he goes "no i'm depressed." There are vaguely understood nature clan(s?) nearby.

I have in mind a group of Coatls who live in the shadow territory somewhere, but it's VERY loosely defined.

Freaky undead thing hanging out in the rubble of the Hewn City is freaky and undead (NOT an emperor this time)

There's a wanted criminal wandering around in the wastelands but you can ignore him. The person who matters is the Woman he has convinced to join his cause and has since begun eating people

And that's all for now! check back for inevitably 1 million updates.

[prairie-tales]

Nootka war club.

Region: North-West Coast.

The Nootka people who fashioned this war club were the first residents of Nootka Sound on the west coast of Vancouver Island. They were renowned for their unique, stylized but realistic carvings, a fine example of which is demonstrated in the eagle head and feathers carved on this war club. Although the eagle is often associated with the Native American sky gods, it also represented the gods of war, and weapons such as this would have been used in the tribal wars.

The Nootka culture was based on whaling and fishing and the Nootka people believed that salmon were people who had been transformed into fish, and who fulfilled their duty of providing food for the people as part of the cycle of life. The Nootka held special ceremonies to welcome the salmon home each year, and fish are another significant symbol found in the art and artefacts of these people.

Source: ‘Folk Art’, Susann Linn-Williams, pp. 164-65.

[blogparanormalexpresso2stuff]

SPOOKY STORY in Memoir of Indian Captive in Nootka Sound

[awsmone]

Taboo season 2 finally has its story, with work beginning

One possibility is that the second season could pick up where the first season left off and Taboo Season 2 explore the aftermath of the finale. Without giving away too many spoilers, the finale saw Delaney finally achieve his goal of controlling the Nootka Sound, a valuable trading post in North America, but at a great cost to himself and his allies.

The second season could show us how Delaney deals with the consequences of his actions, both from his enemies and his own conscience. The show could delve deeper into Delaney's backstory and motivations, exploring the trauma and secrets that have shaped his character. It could also introduce new threats and challenges, as Delaney's enemies seek revenge or try to take control of his assets.

Another option is that the second season could take a more standalone approach, telling a self-contained story that doesn't necessarily rely on the continuity or characters of the first season. For example, the season could be set in a different time period or location, with Delaney encountering new characters and facing new conflicts.

The show could explore other themes and genres, such as horror, romance, or adventure, while still retaining the dark and gritty tone of the first season. This approach would allow the creators to expand on the world of Taboo and showcase their versatility as storytellers.A third option is that the second season could take a more epic and cinematic scope than the first season, with bigger action scenes, more elaborate set pieces, and a larger budget.

The show could introduce new locations and historical events, such as the American Revolution or the French Revolution, and use them as a backdrop for Delaney's adventures. The show could also delve deeper into the supernatural and mystical elements that were hinted at in the first season, exploring the dark and mysterious forces that shape Delaney's world.

This approach would require a more ambitious and daring storytelling style, but it could also offer a more immersive and engaging viewing experience for fans. Of course, these are just a few ideas for a Taboo Season 2, and there are many other possibilities that the creators could explore.

Some fans have suggested that the season could delve deeper into the supporting characters of the first season, such as Delaney's sister, Zilpha, or his loyal servant, Brace. Others have proposed that the season could introduce new actors and directors.

[hikayaking]

[lyralu91]

Update - The river that connects us

Can't believe it's been four weeks - but I'm back! 🥹😍 And this is where we are...

The Delaney household - an old factory foreman's timber house Ship Cove, Nootka Sound August 9th, 1815

The inevitable is upon them ❤️

Can't wait to work my way through these chapters, even if it scares the crap out of me 🫣 I've had soo many images and ideas in my head, for soo long... and here we are. Time to make it happen! 😅 Hope you'll be there with me to wrap up my story! My plan is to have the next chapter up sometime this weekend!

Picture this environment for my upcoming chapter: 🌧️🌬️🌲🪵🌳🍃🌩️

Pine trees. Dirt roads. Timber houses. A humid, summer storm. Being unable to sleep because you're all sweaty and uncomfortable. Waiting for a certain someone to arrive... ❤️

See you soon, sweet readers! 😘

[fatchance]

Flower and fruit. 

Nootka rose (Rosa nutkana) at Richmond Saltwater Beach Park, Shoreline, Washington.

[briarsandbramble]

Nootka rose, Thimbleberry blossom (white), buttercups and a huge blackberry vine from our hike today.

[ltwilliammowett]

The unlucky Sailor

In 1795, the Daedalus, a storeship which had sailed to Port Jackson to supply Captain Vancouver with stores, who was on his way back to Europe, was sent to Otaheite (Tahiti) to pick up 21 shipwrecked sailors from the british Whaler Matilda who had been stranded there in 1792, four of whom were able to escape in a longboat and were found by chance by the Whaler Jenny.

Now it got a bit complicated because Captain Vancouver, who was supposed to be in Nootka Sound, was supposed to take care of the rescue of the men, but he was no longer to be found as his expedition companion Captain William Robert Broughton, learned of the Brig Lady Washington (yes, she really existed) and now took care of this rescue and sent the Daedalus, which was in Port Jackson. Unfortunately, the message traffic took a little longer, which is why the Daedalus did not set sail before 1795, to rescue the men. 

Arriving on the small island, the men of the Daedalus were in for a surprise: they found only 6 men. The first had already been picked up by Captain Bligh in HMS Providence 3 years earlier. Five of the remaining men did not want to go back and so the Daedalus only took one with them. He could hardly wait to get back home to England, but luck was once again not with him, because as soon as he arrived, he became the victim of a pressgang and this time found himself on a warship.- Maybe he should have stayed in Tahiti 

[noladyme]

The Wife - Chapter 1

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. As rumors spread that Mr. James Delaney had returned to England – making a dramatic arrival at his father’s funeral – you might imagine mothers throughout London, rushing to present their marriable daughters to the man. They did not; and for three very good reasons. First; James Keziah Delaney was clearly damaged from his travels, and not a little dangerous. Secondly; it was the general opinion of the better society that Mr. Delaney had inherited his mother’s madness. Thirdly; Mr. Delaney was not single. In fact, he was very much married.

TW: angst, violence, blood, smut (6573 words)

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. As rumors spread that Mr. James Delaney had returned to England – making a dramatic arrival at his father’s funeral – you might imagine mothers throughout London, rushing to present their marriable daughters to the man. They did not; and for three very good reasons.

First; James Keziah Delaney was clearly damaged from his travels, and not a little dangerous. Strange reports were made of late night magic rituals, and more than once the gentleman had been seen with red stained hands – though it was unclear whether the stains stemmed from blood, or the powders he would use to draw markings on his face.

Secondly; it was the general opinion of the better society that Mr. Delaney had inherited his mother’s madness; and no one wanted to risk a familiar connection with a woman who ended her days in Bethlem Royal Hospital – in common tongue, Bedlam Insane Asylum.

Thirdly; Mr. Delaney was not single. In fact, he was very much married.

---

Rosalind was seated in front of the small fireplace in her room at Mrs. Owen’s boarding house, fiddling with the garnet ring she wore on the long finger of her right hand. The fire had long since gone out, but she hadn’t the stamina or even will to get up and feed the dying embers with more wood. As it was, the cold she felt streaming through her veins went well with the chill of the room.

In her hand, she held a letter sent by Mr. Thoyt; the lawyer of her late father-in-law. She’d read it twice; and then once more, just to see if she had not been mistaken.

To; Rosalind Beauchamp c/o Mrs. Fanny Owen

Dear Madam, I sincerely hope this letter finds you well, as I received information that your absence from the funeral of your late father-in-law, was due to an ailment of some kind. Had you attended, I had a seat saved for you in the front pew, where it would have been proper for the heiress of Mr. Horace Delaney to be seated. Alas, I had to take the seat myself, as to not leave it unused; and make the fullness of the pews in the church seem uneven.

Rosalind rolled her eyes at this. There was no doubt in her mind that Thoyt would have filled the seat right next to her, if she had been there; claiming that would be proper, as he was the executor of the elder Delaney’s will.

I should like to extend the well wishes of Mr. Thorne Geary, who has asked if it would be in your wish to promenade with him one of the coming days. I counsel you to accept his visit; as you know he has only your well-being in mind, and bears warm sentiments towards you.

These sentiments Rosalind was well aware of; and was in fact doing her best to avoid the man, so she would not have to spend another drawn out visit, avoiding the topic of widows and widowers remarrying.

It is my hope that your ailment is not of the heart, for I fear I have rather disturbing news to pass on to you; and would not want to make you even more frail. I must inform you that James Keziah Delaney has returned to London. He arrived at the funeral service shortly before the minister began his sermon. These past ten years have changed him much, but it is indeed him.

James. After 3 years as a scorned wife, with a runaway husband, and then 7 more as a widow; he’d returned. A hard knot had formed in her stomach as she read on.

My dear, I urge you to avoid any contact with Mr. Delaney. He is, I reiterate, very different than the gentleman you knew; and from the looks of him, more beast than man. I will be happy to offer any legal aid you might need to separate from him, and fight for your inheritance. James Delaney was proclaimed dead 7 years ago; but as he has been gone for so long, I am sure we can find some legal way to proclaim you continued sole heiress of the Delaney fortunes – among them, the rights to the area in America known as Nootka Sound. I should like to call on you at your earliest disposal. With regards; Robert Thoyt, solicitor.

Rosalind’s hands were shaking, as she held on to the letter. She got on her feet, gazing at the intricately decorated chest in front of the bed in her small room. It had been a gift from her father-in-law; one that he had purchased on one of his many travels. It was the only gift she had ever received from the man, that hadn’t been given out of some sense of responsibility to her. She laid down the letter on the bedside table, and walked over and opened the chest. Moving around gloves, fabrics, unfinished embroidery works, and small boxes of beads and trinkets; she reached the bottom of the chest, where a for years untouched muslin gown lay, next to a veil of fragile lace. She pulled out the delicate dress, and laid it on the bed. It still had a dark stain on the front, from where the minister had spilt wine on her, as her husband and she had taken communion together after being wed. Once outside the church, James had stroked his index finger over the red stain – which was just over the left breast, and smiled. “It matches your lips, Rose”, he’d said; and her distress over having her wedding gown ruined in such a manner, left way to happiness. The way any woman should feel on her wedding day. She hadn’t realized she was crying, until another stain disgraced the muslin; one from a tear.

It was all too much to believe. This man, whom she’d cherished with a naïve and young heart, had suddenly reappeared, after being proclaimed dead. She had to see if it was true; if it was truly him.

There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Owen stepped inside; her large figure filling the doorway. “Lunch is ready, miss Beauchamp”, she said. “Thank you, but I will be going out”, Rosalind said. Mrs. Owen smiled brightly. “Will you be meeting Mr. Geary, then?”, she asked. “I will not”. “Mr. Thoyt?”. Rosalind had become a master at keeping her composure in regards to her nosy landlady; but today she was a little less inclined to be polite. “It is a private matter. Please call a carriage for me”, she said shortly, and the stout woman recoiled slightly at her tone. “Right away, miss”.

After the door closed again, Rosalind stripped off her plain, cotton day dress, and put on a dark blue gown; more suited for an afternoon visit. She shrugged off her inclination to wear the red gown. That would be too much. Her dark grey jacket, a purse and a capote to match, finished her ensemble. Her boots weren’t much to speak of, but they kept her feet mostly dry; though the soles were wearing thin.

The carriage was waiting for her outside the boarding house. She asked the driver to take her back to her former home.

---

Chamber House was even more dreary than when she’d been there last. The smell from the river running behind the house struck her nose, and Rosalind felt a chill go through her body. Trying to open the metal gate, she had to lean against it; putting her whole weight on the rusty thing. It made a loud screeching sound, when it finally opened.

The garden in front of the house was unkempt, and the windows on the bottom floor had been boarded up. For a moment, she considered leaving, as the building seemed abandoned. Maybe Thoyt had been mistaken, and the man at the funeral was an imposter. Smoke from the chimney let Rosalind know that someone was inside, but she had also heard stories of mudlarks roaming empty houses for warmth and the occasional cat that could be made in to dinner. This wasn’t a place for proper ladies, as countess Musgrove would say, but the countess was hardly a proper lady herself, and Rosalind had business to attend.

She went up the few steps to the door, and took a deep breath, before knocking on the door. There was the sound of a dog barking, and then some shuffling around, followed by a voice muttering at the dog. The door opened, and a slight, tired looking man appeared in front of her. “Brace…”, Rosalind greeted him quietly. The old butler stood seemingly dumbfounded at her arrival. She looked up at the sky. “It seems about to rain. May I please come in?”. “Of course, ma’am", Brace muttered, and stepped aside.

The grand hallway was less grand than it had been, years before. The house seemed dark and cold, and Rosalind did not feel inclined to take of her hat or jacket, when Brace reached for them. “I won’t be staying long”, she said. “I just came to see… Is it true? Is he back?”. “He is…”, Brace said with a nod. “This last week". “And you didn’t feel it necessary to inform me?”. Brace looked at the floor in front of him, and fidgeted with the hem of his tattered jacket. “He is changed, Mrs. Delaney…”, Brace began. “Miss Beauchamp”, Rosalind corrected him. Brace recoiled at this, but kept his expression as indifferent as possible. “Yes, miss”.

Rosalind walked towards the sitting room with as much calm as she could muster. “Is he here?”, she asked. “No”, Brace replied. “He is… on business. I don’t know when he’ll return”. “I’ll have to wait, then”, Rosalind sighed. Brace stepped in front of her. “Ma’am… Miss”, he said. “You shouldn’t. James isn’t… He is not the young man you knew”. “And I’m not the girl he knew either”, Rosalind retorted. “In any case, I need to speak with him…”. Brace must have seen the determination on her face, because he stepped aside, and let Rosalind enter the room.

It was dark, and smelled of a mixture of spices, whiskey; and wet firewood and ashes – only slightly taking away from the smell of the river. The furniture was the same, though damaged from the moisture seeping through the walls from the Thames. A large grey dog rested by the unlit fireplace, and lifted its head slightly as she entered. Though it had made its presence known earlier, it seemed to be more bark than bite; and simply let out a huff, as she seated herself on the sofa. It raised its eyes to look at her, and she smiled slightly at it; feeling like she got a sort of smile in return. “Tea, miss?”, Brace asked. “No, thank you”, Rosalind said. “Good. We don’t have any”, the butler smiled. “And from what I remember, you prefer coffee”. His expression had warmed, since he’d apparently accepted that Rosalind had no intention of leaving. She suspected he was trying to soften the blow of whatever she was about to face. “That sounds lovely. Thank you, Brace”.

After the butler had disappeared, Rosalind took some time to get reacquainted with the room in which she’d spent many hours, years before. Seated on this same couch, she’d kept her father-in-law company, as he rambled about his business and how everyone was trying to cheat him. She’d had tea with uninteresting ladies from all over town, who all came with well wishes after the wedding, combined with insincere regrets upon the departure of her husband, so soon after. The same night, in fact. A whole year she’d managed to keep her sanity in the house, which became draftier and drearier almost by the second. When his son had up and left suddenly, the elder Delaney had gone into a strange bout of melancholy; almost seeming to feel guilty about the fact. Rosalind did her best to keep up the façade of a good wife and daughter-in-law, but found it harder and harder to keep up with Mr. Delaney’s moods, and when the letters from her husband stopped, she found no reason to stay in the house any longer. She would visit weekly, but never for long, as the old man seemed rather indifferent to whether she was there or not, and mostly stared into the fireplace, and muttered to himself.

Horace Delaney had made sure she received an allowance to keep up with expenses; but 4£ a month did not stretch far. In the end, Rosalind had taken up work as a chaperone and occasional tutor to young ladies in the south-east of England – never straying too far from London.

Two years after leaving the Chamber House, Rosalind received a letter, letting her know that her husband was suspected dead in a shipwreck. The news hit her painfully hard. Deep down, she had always hoped that James would return to her one day, even after he was thought of as dead; though rationally, she knew better. She’d dreamed of him often. He was always at a distance, always out of reach. It was agony to miss him so. Now, he had returned, and as it was, clearly not for his wife.

Soon after, her visits became rarer. The elder Delaney more or less ignored her when she came, and more than once, he’d asked Brace to tell her to leave, while she was still in the room; so he could get back to work. She’d attended Zilpha's wedding, but the two had never been close; merely friendly acquaintances, with a dead brother and husband in common. Once Zilpha had passed, after a sudden disease that made her seem old beyond her years in just weeks, Horace made it clear he had no wish to see any kind if family; so for two years, Rosalind had stayed away from Chamber House.

Until today.

Brace returned with a tray of coffee and biscuits that looked hard enough to crack a tooth on. Out of sheer politeness, Rosalind picked up one, and dipped it in her cup of coffee, to soften the treat. Brace threw a biscuit at the dog, who gulped it up without much trouble chewing it. Rosalind dropped her biscuit on the floor herself, and the dog got up, and slowly walked over to eat it. It lifted its head, and looked at her; and she timidly scratched it behind its ear.

Suddenly, it turned its head, and looked towards the hallway. The door opened, and a gust of wind blew through the house; making it sound like the building was whimpering, as it passed through the cracks in the walls. A dark figure stepped into the hallway; the sound of his boots loud as canons. A long coat covered his broad frame, and he wore a hat; pushed forward on his head, and hiding his face in shadow. “Brace! Coffee…”, he ordered; his hoarse voice leaving very little trace of the raspy, warm one Rosalind remembered. Brace hurried to greet his master, and took his hat and coat. Rosalind sat very still, with bated breath and beating heart. “In the sitting room, but… sir, you have a guest”, Brace said. “I’m not inclined to receive anyone. Tell them to go away”. “You will want to see her… Maybe”. Rosalind got on her feet, and slowly turned to face the doorway.

James Delaney had indeed changed. Gone was the young gentleman, with the boyish charm and nervous smile; and instead, there stood a bearded, brute man, who had danger and darkness written all over his expression. A scar ran from his brow, and down over his eye and cheek.

Yet, she could not find a flaw on him. He was even more striking than the day they’d met. Love and pain streamed through her body. James took one look at his wife; nodded, and let out a breathy grunt. “Rosalind…”, he said. “James…”, she breathed; trying to keep her composure. Rosalind felt as if she might faint at any moment. She regretted coming to see him, and unsure what had been her reason. But now she was here, as was he; and internally, she struggled not to throw herself into his arms, or attack him with the fire poke.

Rosalind sat back down, and James took his place in what had been his father’s chair, opposite her; looking at the dog. He took a biscuit, and threw it in the air. The dog caught it, and gobbled it down. Brace went over to the samovar, and looked at Rosalind. “More coffee, miss Beauchamp?”, he asked. James eyes flew towards Rosalind, and then down at the ring adorning her right hand; and something hard ghosted his face. She immediately regretted not having worn gloves. “Yes. More coffee for miss Beauchamp, and then maybe a cup for your master, hmm?”, James said. “Of course, sir. And I’ve prepared a cod for dinner. Atticus brought it”. James replied with a grunt, and Brace poured coffee for them. “Will you be staying, miss?”. “No, thank you Brace. My landlady is expecting me at the boarding house”, Rosalind said. Once again, James gave her an unreadable, hard look.

Brace stood uncomfortably by the fireplace, before finally pretending to remember something he had to see to, and scuttered off. James and Rosalind sat in silence for a long moment. Trying to calm herself, Rosalind took a sip of her coffee. “I was told you died”, she said quietly. “I did”, James replied, and drank the entire content of his cup in one go. “You’re a widow, miss Beauchamp”. Rosalind’s cheeks flushed red. “It was easier to use my maiden name…”. “To separate yourself from my father, or me…?”, James grunted. Rosalind looked down. “To start anew”, she whispered. “I had to start over, after you left”.

James seemingly ignored that last sentence. “You did not attend my father’s funeral”, he said, his eyes fixed on something on the far wall. You did not attend our wedding night, Rosalind wanted to reply; but thought the better of it. “I felt indisposed”, she said meekly. “Too indisposed to say a last farewell to the man who has been keeping up your expenses these last 10 years?”, James challenged. “Whom you were set to inherit this house and the rest of his fortune from?”. “I am not kept”, she retorted. James eyes flickered. “I felt indisposed to sit through a sham of a service set up by a lawyer, who had no love for the deceased; and to then have to avoid the wandering eyes of every man in the room, hoping to get his hand on said fortune. And me”.

James raised his brows at her, making the scar on his face even more prominent. “You’ve had suitors, then?”, he asked. “I’ve been a widow, not a nun”, Rosalind retorted, an angry edge to her voice. James’ lip twitched into a slight smile, which was gone as soon as it had arrived. “But never remarried…”, he said. “You know I didn’t…”. “You could have gone to France. Stayed with relatives there. They could have found a suitable match for you”. “I have no family to speak of in France. And I’ve never met any of the few I have”.

With a loud bang, James put one foot up on the ottoman in front of his chair, and pulled off his boot. “So, is that why you are here? Because you want to be married?”, he asked, and took off the other boot. “You said my husband was dead. It seems that is not an option”. Rosalind did not understand why uttering the words brought her as much pain as it did; but she felt something break inside her when she did. “Then why?”. “I need to know where I stand. Dead as you may be, here you are; and my situation is much different than I thought it to be”, she said. “It is clear that I am no longer the heiress of this… grand house, and your father’s holdings. To add to that is that, legally I am bound to you; and you to me…”. “I will keep up with your expenses”, James said, interrupting her. “How much was my father providing?”. Rosalind bit her cheek, and looked down again. “4£ a month”, she whispered.

James eyes widened. “My father only granted you 4£ a month?”, he said. “That is not much money for hats, lace gloves and whatnot”. “Don’t insult me, James”, Rosalind said. “You know full well that I couldn’t care less about hats and gloves”. “Do I? I have not seen you in ten years”, James shrugged. “And who’s fault is that?”, Rosalind hissed. “Hmm”, James muttered. “How have you been making a living? I take it you have had to take on employment? There aren’t many ways for a gentle woman to make money. I hope you have not been forced to solicit yourself”. His voice was cold, and his eyes traced her figure. “You are cruel…”, Rosalind said. “And you are not first to have uttered those words. Though; vicious and evil are more common, when I am spoken of". James took a sip of his coffee, and studied her face for a reaction. Rosalind kept her composure, surprising even herself at her ability to do so.

“You should know I have received a letter from Mr. Thoyt, your father’s lawyer", she said. James met her eyes again, narrowing his own. “He has offered me legal aid in regards to claiming your inheritance”. “Which you will accept, of course". James said. “No. I will not. It is not my inheritance. I didn’t even truly want it, when I thought you were dead". He looked down at her feet, and she instinctively pulled them backwards, and tried to cover them with her skirts. “You could have used it", James said. “I don’t want your family’s money. That was not why I married you".

James got on his feet abruptly, making it clear it was time for Rosalind to leave. She stood up, and walked towards the hallway; clutching her purse. “I will provide you with 15£ a month. I do not want you taking on employment with anyone anymore… no matter what it is”, James said. “Why do you care? Very few people know I am your wife; and I do not use your name”, Rosalind replied. “I will not be dragging it through the mud”. “Call it taking responsibility for my mistakes”, he said. “Is that what I am?”. Her voice was shaking at this point.

James met her eyes, and let out a short, audible breath. “Take yourself to a shoemaker, and have him make you some better boots”, he said. “The ones you have on, are almost worn out. Have them send the bill to me”. “No, thank you. I shall mend them”, Rosalind replied. She went to leave, but James put a hand on the doorhandle; and blocked her exit. “You will buy new boots, and I will see that your current accommodations are suitable”, he said, looking seriously at her. “You don’t know where I live”, Rosalind said. “I will find out”. There was no doubt in his voice, he was merely making a statement of fact.

James opened the door for her, but before she could exit, he stepped outside, and looked across the garden, and turned his head to gaze down the road; almost as if making sure no one was watching them. When he finally stepped aside, Rosalind walked down the steps; and turned to face him one last time. “James…”, she said. “Rose…”, he replied; making her breath hitch. His eyes warmed for a second, before he stepped back inside, and closed the door.

---

Rosalind had a strange dream that night.

She was walking along the shore of a muddied lake. A way out in the water, with his back to her, stood a broad-shouldered man with markings on his skin. He wore no clothes, save a cloth to cover his privates. A dark gravelly voice was speaking strange words she did not understand, and when she called out to the figure in the water, he turned around. He was the one speaking, but the words were sounding as if they were coming from somewhere very close; not from where he was standing.

She closed her eyes in fear, and when she opened them again, he was standing right in front of her. It was James, but he had a painted face, and his eyes were black. She closed her eyes again, and covered her face. A strong pair of hands grabbed her wrists, and pulled them down. “Look at me”, James said. “No… You’re dead”, Rosalind said. “Am I? I am here now…”. “You left me. And then you came back as someone else”.

She opened her eyes again, and saw James as she had seen him earlier that day. No paint on his face, and bright blue eyes. “I was always here”. He put his index finger on her forehead, and then just over her left breast. “And here…”. When he removed his hand, a red stain marked her nightgown. “It matches your lips, Rose”.

She woke up in a jolt, and held her hand to her chest. Looking down, she saw a red stain on her nightgown, just over her left breast.

Getting out of bed, Rosalind walked over to the washbasin, and splashed her face with the cold water. She rubbed at the stain with a moist finger, but all that did, was make it more prominent, and her nipple harden from the cold, damp fabric now covering it. She walked over to the window and looked outside. Across the street, she saw a dark figure; looking up towards her. She didn’t recognize the face, but the menacing glare she thought she could see from under the rim of the persons hat, made her instantly move backwards, and out of view of the window.

The bed felt cold and unwelcoming when she got back under the sheets.

---

As she finished her breakfast the next morning, Mrs. Owen came into the dining room, holding a medium sized parcel. “This came for you, miss. Might you have a secret admirer?”, she said. She handed Rosalind the parcel, and a letter. “And your mail”. Rosalind thanked her, and went up to her room, to examine the parcel, and read her letter in private.

Inside the parcel lay a pair of half boots, in soft, yet sturdy leather. They would keep Rosalind’s feet dry and warm, and it was clear they had not been cheap. There was no note attached to the gift; though gift might be the wrong word, as James seemed to see her more as a responsibility to take care of, rather than someone to bestow presents upon. She threw the boots in a corner, unable to define her emotions – anger or sadness, she was not sure. After a few moments of frustrated groans and a few stray tears, she walked over, and gingerly picked up the boots; dusting them off with her hand. She set them down on top of the chest.

Rosalind turned her attentions to her letter. The writing was in the blunt and crude, yet feminine hand and wording of countess Musgrove.

To; Rosalind Beauchamp c/o Fanny Owen

Dearest friend, It has come to my attention that you have recently been made aware of some rather disturbing news. An acquaintance of mine has informed me that your apparently not so late husband has returned to London. It seems to come at a terrible time, as you were so close to inheriting somewhat of a fortune; at least enough to attract a new husband. Am I mistaken in thinking Mr. Thorne Geary has taken an interest in you? In any case, please call upon me for tea this Friday afternoon, so we might play a round of cassino, and discuss your plans for your now much changed future.

Sincerely; Genevieve Musgrove, countess.

Rosalind let out a very unfeminine and impolite noise. She would rather take an ice bath of lime, than sit through another afternoon of the countess and her friends gossiping and filling their gobs with sweets. None the less, she was obliged to attend, to stay in Musgrove’s good graces; and have a chance for another employment with her. And it was not like she had a husband, who could give her a good excuse to stay away.

There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Owen stepped inside. “You have a visitor, miss”, she said, a mischievous smile on her plump face. “Perhaps the green gown, for a promenade?”. “Mr. Geary, then?”, Rosalind sighed. “Indeed. And he has mentioned on many occasions, how lovely the green goes with your ten”. Rosalind cocked a brow at her landlady. “May I trouble your maid for help with preparing? I am finding myself out of sorts”. Mrs. Owen nodded, and left the room. Soon the young maid entered. “Please, will you fetch my blue gown?”.

---

Thorne Geary was waiting in the sitting room, politely smiling at Mrs. Owen; when Rosalind entered. “Miss Beauchamp! I came to enquire upon your health, after your absence from the funeral service”, he said. “Mr. Thoyt let me know you wished to call upon me; but I am quite sure I did not respond affirmatively”, Rosalind said. A dissatisfied expression ghosted Mr. Geary’s face. “Alas, I believe we have matters to discuss”, he said through an insincere smile. “Will you do me the honor of promenading with me?”.

A little while later, Mr. Geary and Rosalind were strolling along the lanes of Hyde Park. “Your gown is quite fetching, miss Beauchamp”, the gentleman proclaimed. “Almost as fetching as the green you wore when I last called upon you”. “I am unsure whether that is a compliment, or an insult”, Rosalind replied. Geary cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable about her response.

“It was quite a shock to see James Delaney at the funeral”, Geary said. He was holding his arm in such a manner, that Rosalind was invited to take it. She ignored the gesture. “I am sure it was”, she muttered; and moved her body to put a little more distance between them. Geary stepped after her, and the smell of the herring he had obviously eaten earlier hit her nose. Rosalind detested herring. “I am sure it came as an even greater shock for you, my dear Rosalind”, he said. “Please, Mr. Geary. I do not think we are quite close enough acquaintances for pet names”. “Are we not family? In-laws?”, Geary smiled. “Now, more than ever, it would seem, as you… husband has reappeared”.

He gestured for them to walk down a smaller lane, away from curious ears. “Ever since we first met, I’ve felt a close connection to you”, Geary said. “And, then when my dear Zilpha passed… well, I must admit, I hoped we might build on that bond”. Rosalind felt bile rise in her throat. “Mr. Geary…”, she began. “Thorne, please…”, Geary insisted. “Mr. Geary!”, Rosalind said firmly. “This conversation is highly improper, and I beg of you to stop”.

Geary sighed, and looked down. “You know of my sentiments towards you. Those have not changed, merely because that savage, who forced matrimony on you years ago, is back”. “You do not know him”, Rosalind said quietly. “Neither do you. From what I am told, your courtship was very brief. There were even rumors of you being in unfortunate circumstances…”. Rosalind stopped in her tracks. “Gossip mongering, Mr. Geary? So much for close connections”, she said.

Geary stepped over to a bench in an alcove, and gestured for Rosalind to sit. “Please, miss Beauchamp… for I insist on still calling you that, and not Mrs. Delaney, if you will not let me call you by your first name”, he said. They sat down together; Rosalind aiming for sitting as far from her companion as she could. “I, of course, am well aware that your chasteness can never be questioned. You are beyond doubt the kindest, most virtuous woman I have had the pleasure to meet. Even as my betrothed walked up the aisle to become my wife, I could not take my eyes off you…”. “You should stop speaking”, Rosalind said. “Please, let me get this off my chest!”, Geary said. His voice was not pleading; but hard – and Rosalind was reminded of how her sister-in-law had wilted from a lively and smiling favorite in London society, to a grey ghost of her former self, after she married. In this moment, Rosalind knew that Mr. Geary had been the one to make his wife such.

Geary took a firm hold of her hand, and when she tried to pull it away, he grabbed her wrist; and continued his speech. “Delaney is mad. I have spoken to more than one sailor, who have told me stories, I cannot repeat in present company”, Geary said. “He should have stayed dead, and let you keep the inheritance. You and I could…”. “There is no you and I, Mr. Geary”, Rosalind tried.

Geary’s hand around her wrist tightened. “I know I am not a very wealthy man, but you and I… we both married in to the Delaney family; and we saw how that mad old bastard brought shame on the name”. “Perhaps we should have helped him, instead of standing by?”, Rosalind muttered; trying to keep herself calm, as the man held on to her. He leaned in closer, and his hot breath hit her face. “No… He got everything he deserved; and sired two wretches, who continued to do the same”. “How can you speak of your wife in such a manner?”. “She was a barren fool…”.

Rosalind finally pried herself free from Geary’s grasp, and stood up; but he grabbed her by the arm, and forced her to sit again. “Let me go”, Rosalind whimpered. She was sure to have marks on her arm after his manhandling her. Geary looked at her intently. “I can do much with the money I can make from selling that plot of land in America; and with you as my wife…”. “I am already married, sir!”, Rosalind sneered. “Are you? Delaney was back for more than a week, without letting himself be known to you. It wasn’t until Thoyt wrote you, that you knew. He hasn’t taken you in; you are still living in that boarding house”. A vile grin, which Geary clearly thought came across as calming, spread across his lips. “But, never mind that. That can all be taken care of”. “What is that supposed to mean?”. A knot had begun forming in the pit of Rosalind’s stomach, and she was shaking.

“You speak ill of my dear sister, and now you have intentions on my wife”. James appeared in front of them; a dark look about him. “Let her go”. “You interrupted our conversation, Mr. Delaney”, Geary said. “Is that what you were doing? Conversing? Or plotting my demise…”, James retorted. “In any case, you have your hands and mind on what is still mine. Release the lady”.

Rosalind tore herself from Geary, and got on her feet, moving away from the bench; and towards James. He gave her a look of dissatisfied confusion, and she went to stand next to him, her eyes on the ground. “You should have stayed dead”, Geary sneered, and got on his feet. He stood taller than James, but in no way seemed as dangerous as him. “Is that what you tell my sister, when she haunts your nightmares?”, James asked. Geary recoiled at James’ words; and James half turned towards Rosalind. “I will escort you back to your lodgings”, he said, and turned his back to Geary. Rosalind followed his lead, and they walked down the path. She felt Geary’s eyes on her back as they went.

---

They walked in silence. Rosalind struggled to keep up with James’ long strides; and after a while, she stopped, and went to sit on a bench at the side of the lane. “I have things to do. If you need to catch your breath, then be quick about it”, James said. “You don’t have to escort me. Go about your business”, Rosalind retorted. “And risk the predators setting on you? Come now, we have eyes on us”. Rosalind looked around her, seeing no one but ladies, gentlemen, and the occasional governess taking a child on a stroll. “What eyes?”.

James narrowed his eyes for a moment, as if making a decision of whether to tell her more, or hold his tongue. In the end, he settled for continuing. “Your Mr. Geary made it clear”, he said. “He is not my Mr. Geary. I’d prefer to avoid the connection all together”, Rosalind retorted. “Hmm”, James grunted. “He made it clear, as I said. I am to be taken care of. There are evil men who are out to kill me”. “And my sore feet put you in danger?”. James seemed taken aback, and slightly amused at her retort. “Perhaps you should have worn your new boots”, he said, and stretched out his hand for her to stand. Rosalind was about to take it, when she saw that James had removed his glove. “Come…”, he said; and with her heart in her throat, she took his hand.

It was as warm as she remembered, and his touch sent the same shivers down her spine, as it had those many years before. As she stood in front of him, everything around Rosalind disappeared; and all she could see, was the man in front of her. She breathed him in. Musk, fresh tobacco, grass, dirt, coffee – and that undefinable thing that was merely him. “James…”, she whispered. James expression hardened, and his eyes became dark. “No… None of that. Do not make yourself a weakness”, he said. “And do not let me become one, either. You are too good for that”. “But you…”. James let go of her hand, and his face grew almost saddened. She looked down at his hand, and saw that the tip of his index finger was red. Rosalind let out a soft gasp; and when she opened her mouth to speak, he was already walking down the path again. He slowed his pace, so she could keep up; but did not speak to her for the rest of the walk.

Once back at the boarding house, Mrs. Owen met them in the door. “Going out with one gentleman, and coming back with another… Really, miss Beauchamp”, she said in a chiding voice. “Not a common occurrence, then?”, James said. Rosalind had to will herself not to slap him. Mrs. Owen raised a pair of cold eyes. “I beg your pardon… This is a proper establishment, sir!”, she exclaimed. “And who are you?”. “Her husband”.

Mrs. Owen looked stunned, and for once, she didn’t seem to know what to say. “You are… Well, that’s… You are recently wed, then?”, she asked. “No”, James said shortly. He looked at Rosalind one final time, before turning around, and walking away.

---

[dwellordream]

“Austen’s life found Britain at war, or close to war, and she published her first two novels in wartime and wrote others then. The headline conflicts were the American Revolutionary War, followed by war with France, first Revolutionary and then Napoleonic. This war, which broke out in 1793, lasted until Napoleon’s total defeat at Waterloo, with two brief intervals in 1802–3 and 1814–15. There was also the War of 1812, in fact from 1812–15, with the United States, which included three unsuccessful US invasions of Canada, as well as US naval action across the globe.

In addition, there were many other wars and threats of war. The former were particularly the case in India, where there were large-scale conflicts with the Marathas or Mysore in 1775–82, 1790–92, 1799, 1803–5, and 1817–18, as well as smaller-scale conflicts. Threats of war included with France in 1787 in the Dutch crisis, with France and Spain in 1790 in the Nootka Sound crisis, and with Russia in 1791 in the Ochakov crisis, although none involved Britain in war. So also during the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars, including periods of serious confrontation with Russia and Turkey, notably (but not only) in 1800 and 1807 respectively. 

…There were references in Austen’s work to Britain’s wars. In her A Collection of Letters, written in 1791 or 1792, “Miss Jane,” secretly married to Captain Dashwood, cries because “he fell while fighting for his country in America,” a reference to the American Revolutionary War of 1775–83. …In Emma, there is Colonel Campbell; his friend Lieutenant Fairfax has died in action abroad, with his wife following soon after, leaving Jane Fairfax an orphan. Less positively, in Persuasion, the useless Richard Musgrove had died while a midshipman.

Southern England, more particularly the area where Austen lived much of her life, played a crucial role in the mobilization and movement of troops. Those going abroad generally embarked via nearby Portsmouth. In contrast, Plymouth in Devon was difficult to access by land while shipping from London meant having to work around Kent and through the Straits of Dover, which was difficult against the prevailing westerly winds. Instead, Portsmouth, where Austen’s brother Francis entered the tough, and fee-charging, Royal Navy Academy in 1786, was the key port for the navy, the East India Company, and troops going abroad. 

Indeed, expensive proposed government measures for its defense created a parliamentary storm in 1786 and led to a rare parliamentary defeat for William Pitt the Younger. In wartime, the roads of Hampshire were thronged with troop movements. So also with wagons carrying supplies for the forces and live animals being driven to Portsmouth for use on ships. Portsmouth, indeed, was a growing market for Hampshire’s grain and livestock, in large part thanks to its military role. For the farmers, this was very profitable. Hampshire was also a county that produced a disproportionate number of naval officers, as did Kent and the Southwest, both areas of interest to Austen. 

Hampshire’s naval busyness became even more apparent when invasion was feared. This was particularly so in 1779 when France and Spain planned a joint invasion to be launched against Portsmouth. However, the invasion preparations were thwarted by the consequences of delay, including the outbreak of disease among the assembled troops. As another aspect of national strengthening during such crises, the clergy were instructed to organize national prayer and fast days, which was very much encouraged by George III. 

After peace for Britain in Europe for a decade (for 1783–93), the military situation became acute in the 1790s. Britain entered war with France in 1793, with the support of the other major naval powers—the Dutch and Spain, as well as Austria, Prussia, and Savoy-Piedmont—only for the Dutch to be overrun by French forces in 1795 and Spain, having been defeated and negotiated peace in 1795, to join France against Britain in 1796. Prussia had also left the war with France in 1795. As a result, Britain, its forces driven with serious losses from the Continent, was both outnumbered at sea and vulnerable to invasion. 

Indeed, French forces were landed in Wales in 1797 and, far more seriously, in Ireland in 1798, although both expeditions were defeated. So also with Dutch, French, and Spanish fleets in 1797–98 in the battles of Camperdown (1797), the Nile (1798), and Cape St. Vincent (1797) respectively. These naval victories were valuable boosts to Britain’s fortunes and morale and greatly compensated for earlier naval setbacks. The sole earlier victory of scale, at the battle of the Glorious First of June (1794), had only a limited impact on French fortunes. The seemingly perpetual threat of invasion made British success at sea crucial, indeed apparently providential. 

That was the theme of sermons, such as those of Edward Nares, who is mentioned later in the chapter, and also of Naucratia: or Naval Dominion (1798), by the lackluster poet laureate, Henry Pye. It was only Horatio Nelson’s major naval victory at Trafalgar on October 21, 1805, that made invasion appear far less of a threat. Frank Austen was unlucky to miss action in that battle as involvement was a source of much glory. Despite Trafalgar, Napoleon continued to build up his naval strength, notably at Antwerp, the target of the unsuccessful Walcheren expedition in 1809, and, in its continual vigilance of blockade, the British navy remained the key line of defense against French forces. 

Austen’s brothers were part of the unprecedented mobilization of the nation. Naval power not only provided protection but also permitted Britain to dominate the European transoceanic world during the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars. Naval victories left Britain free to execute amphibious attacks against the now-isolated centers of other European empires, such as Dutch-ruled Batavia (Djakarta). Thus, British naval power helped make French control of Louisiana redundant. 

Indeed, Napoleon’s sale of territory to the United States in 1803 was an apt symbol of the Eurocentrism that, despite interest in the Caribbean, was a leading feature of French policy after the failure of the Egyptian expedition as a result of Nelson’s victory at the battle of the Nile (1798), although Napoleon also hoped, with reason, that the sale would harm Anglo-American relations to the advantage of France. 

British success owed much to her naval power but more to her insular status. Of the islands lying off the European mainland, only Britain was both independent and a major power. This allowed, indeed required, her to concentrate on her naval forces. This was unlike her Continental counterparts, which devoted major resources to their armies, even those, like France and Spain, that were also maritime powers. Despite Britain’s naval power and successes, the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars with France were an extremely difficult as well as lengthy struggle, and it was by no means clear that French domination of western Europe would be short-lived. 

The defeat and overthrow of Napoleon in 1812–14 owed much to Austria, Prussia, and Russia. It would have been impossible for Britain alone to have overthrown his Continental empire. In practice, final British success in Spain in 1813, won under the command of the Duke of Wellington, in part depended on the concentration of French forces in Germany. The British also played a crucial role in Napoleon’s eventual defeat in 1815, and, during the war, about thirty thousand men joined the army annually. This commitment was not separate from British history in the nineteenth century but rather was important to British society and a formative experience for the British nation over the following century. 

…Austen’s social options were affected by the militarization of society possibly more than she knew. Austen may have attended the winter assembly balls in Basingstoke that were frequented by the officers of the South Devon Militia. In Kent in August 1805, a year of justified invasion panic, Austen was invited to a grand ball at Deal where “no gentlemen but of the garrison are invited,” only for the ball to be canceled due to the death of William, Duke of Gloucester, the king’s brother. Court mourning was an important religious and social obligation and would have been particularly significant for the army. 

Invasion fears that year were only quietened (later) by Trafalgar, and Kent would have been in the front line of any invasion. It was assumed that French troops, having landed on the coast closest to France, would march across the county en route to London. Meanwhile, the cost and economic disruption of the war years, which indeed contributed to the rapidly rising production costs of books, were linked to serious pressures on living standards. Average real wages stagnated, and there was widespread hardship, especially in the near-famine years of 1795–96 and 1799–1801.

In his first Essay on the Principle of Population (1798), Thomas Malthus (1766–1834), a clergyman then living in rural Surrey, the setting for Emma, wrote: “The sons of labourers are very apt to be stunted in their growth and are a long while arriving at maturity. Boys that you would guess to be fourteen or fifteen are . . . frequently found to be eighteen or nineteen . . . a want either of proper or sufficient nourishment.” Malthus advocated celibacy and delayed marriage as the means to cope with population pressures. As a reminder of the linkage of different themes, settings, and people in Austen’s lifetime, he died in Bath and was buried in the abbey. 

Population problems were accentuated by the benefits that others, such as farmers, drew from the economic strains of the period. Aside from serious food rioting caused by price rises, naval mutinies in 1797 owed much to anger over pay and conditions, as well as political radicalism. These mutinies threatened national security. Social stability appeared precarious, and radical societies were banned in 1799 for fear of the consequences in an increasingly difficult international and domestic situation.

…The association of radicalism with the French in the 1790s also helped damn it for most people, not least because of the anarchy, terror, and irreligion increasingly linked, in most English minds, to the French Revolution—notably so from 1792. In Catherine, or the Bower (1792), Austen refers to the “state of affairs in the political world . . . Mrs P, who was firmly of opinion that the whole race of mankind were degenerating, said that for her part, everything she believed was going to rack and ruin, all order was destroyed over the face of the world. The House of Commons she heard did not break up sometimes till five in the morning, and depravity never was so general before.”

…The rallying to Church and Crown in response to the French Revolution played a potent role in the definition of nationhood, both British and English. The notion of objective national interests had developed rapidly during the eighteenth century, in large part as a product of the eighteenth-century Enlightenment proposition that humans live in a universe governed by natural laws that proclaim, among other things, the existence of nations, defined through a mixture of geography, language, culture, physical features, and even traits of personality, and that the interests of nations essentially are to be defined in terms of protecting their geographical, cultural, and physical (i.e., security) integrity.”

- Jeremy Black, “A State at War.” in England in the Age of Austen

[hikayaking]

An old fishing trawler rambles down the sound, the hand of fate carrying us to new adventures.

[lyralu91]

New chapter up - The river that connects us

"Lorna stepped inside, happy for the refuge of her home as a low rumble reverberated through the sky, rolling in over Nootka Sound and reaching the Delaney household on top of the hill."

I'm back, dear readers! FINALLY! 🤗❤️

Batten the hatches ya'll, cause another storm is coming...

[flowerishness]

Rosa

Wild Roses

Globally, there are over a hundred species of wild rose. All of them have five petals and almost all of them are pink. British Columbia’s Nootka rose (Rosa nutkana) is typical and I’ve seen it growing in Nootka Sound on the shingle beach where Captain Cook first discovered it in 1778. This particular wild rose is growing at the end of my driveway and I’d love to call it a Nootka rose but Nootka roses are taller with solid pink flowers.