MissVictoria
Falling Farther In
- Joined
- Oct 6, 2001
- Posts
- 2,044
OOC: Please do not post without reading the ooc post! (click here )
Stormswept Heights, England, 1805
I shall never forget that certain summer, for it was then that my father, Sir Edward Martyn, Bt., remarried- and that my new siblings and stepmother came to live at Stormswept Heights.
I remember it quite well, for I was just into my eighteenth summer, old enough certainly, that I should be married or at the very least betrothed to my intended. I quarrled with my father daily on my rejection of the various proper suitors who visited the manor, and it was a tense period of my life. But even had it been less tense then, I should not have forgotten that certain summer, for it was to change my life drastically and must therefore be forever impressed upon my memory in sharp detail.
I was an only child, and as such children grow into adults who are thusly, I was both precocious and curious. Early on I had learned I must know all there was to know about what went on in our house. My father's moods were determined accordingly, and though all of us at the Heights were subject to Sir Martyn's displeasure when things did not go well, I had to bear the brunt of his anger more often than anyone else. For this reason, I had become adept over the years at cleverly ferreting out every scrap of information posessed by those in our household, so I might know my father's wherabouts and disposition every minute of each day.
It might seem unnatural to you that I, his only child, had such a fear of him that I would spy upon him like a skulking beast, when even in a rage, he had never struck me and, indeed, treated me only with tender kindness. Perhaps it was this kindness which I feared, for deep within his eyes I could see an animal presance when he looked upon me, sometimes as if he had wish to devour my flesh with the sharp teeth of a wolf. The contradictory nature of his actions and eyes quite disarmed me, and armed me against myself, and as such I went to great lengths to keep out of his way.
In this, I was aided by the rest of our household, who felt sorry for me and thought me strange to constantly reject the suitors who came to call, though I heard them mumble that naught else might be expected of me, I had been reared in so peculiar a fashion, with no women about. Indeed, it was whispered amongst the halls of the Heights that I would never love a man, and that I should have been born a boy. I knew this only indirectly, for such talk was not proper when discussing a girl of my station, but still I could see their eyes, amused and curious as they looked upon me.
It was not that I was boyish in appearance. Certainly, I was not dainty as women of my circle in society were expected to be... my skin was paler than it should be, and my hair as black as night. They were offset by the strange molten copper of my eyes, which with my unruly hair gave me a wild appearance. While the rest of society dressed their women in soft pastels, the colors next to my face made me appear bleached, and washed out. And so I wore darker colors that suited me better- midnight blues and deep scarlet gowns, both colors of which were unpopular for women.
My disposition as well, was lacking. Intelligence in a woman was undesirable, but alongside it, I was unruly. There was nothing I enjoyed more than to set off on my dear dapple-gray gelding, Eternity, and taste the wind as I rode him fast down the open roads leading to the Estate. I had grown up childhood friends to the stableboys of the Heights, and could run fast, spit far, and play dice and cards with the best of them.
Life in the Heights was, despite butting heads with my father, quite pleasant. He only wished that I should find him a proper husband to rule over the inheritance in which he had so much pride.
The house was set in northern Cornwall, upon the wild, savage moors that stretched to the sea, cutting a stark brutal line against the horizon, for the heaths here were barren of trees, although alders, birches, oaks and ashes could be found in the deep, sheltered combs. A wood consisting in the main of ancient Cornish elms surrounded the manor itself. But their branches were sparse and pointed steeply upward before spreading into narrow crowns, so the elms seemed a part of the fierce sweep of the land as well, though other less austere trees had been planted over the ages and helped to soften the harsh effect.
The Heights itself was old and fashioned in the shape of an E, for it had been built during the reign of Queen Elizabeth. It was constructed of Pentewan rock hewn from the cliffs near Mevagissey at Chapel Point and brought by wagons to the site where the house stood. Over the ages, the rough stone had weathered to a pale silver gray that reflected every nuance of light and shadow, giving the manor a forbidding appearance, especially at dusk, I thought.
It was three stories high, counting the attic. The main portion was topped by a flat, battlemented roof; the wings were capped with steep hip and valley roofs from which rose distinctive Tudor chimneys. Ivy grew up the front wall, around the arch framing the massive oak doors, and halfway up the sides of the towers, making the Heights seem less stern and grim that in really was. Long, narrow casement windows with leaded lozenge panes of fine Venetian glass overlooked a portion of wood that, along with the beautiful multicolored gardens and sprawling green lawns of the manor, formed the park. The gardens were all constantly cared for, lest the untamed moors beyond reclaim the stolen terrain, as I often fancied they wished to do.
Sometimes late at night, when I lay huddled in my bed, the wind blowing in from the coast a few miles away would carry to my ears the sound of the roaring seas breaing against the distant cliffs, and I would imagine the earth crumblind before the onslaught of the waves, the Heights falling down into the sea, and tumbling into the oceans depths. My life was encompassed with ruthless, relentless elements, and the Heights was very much a place of isolation, for we had only one near neighbor, a small farm far off.
Thus, when the carriage arrived from London, bearing my father and his new bride, and my new step-siblings, it was quite a change to the dreary monotony, and the self-created ghosts that flitted about the manor. As I watched the finely dressed family emerging from the gilded carriage, my eyes were ablaze with the excitement of having others about the lonely halls.
Stormswept Heights, England, 1805
I shall never forget that certain summer, for it was then that my father, Sir Edward Martyn, Bt., remarried- and that my new siblings and stepmother came to live at Stormswept Heights.
I remember it quite well, for I was just into my eighteenth summer, old enough certainly, that I should be married or at the very least betrothed to my intended. I quarrled with my father daily on my rejection of the various proper suitors who visited the manor, and it was a tense period of my life. But even had it been less tense then, I should not have forgotten that certain summer, for it was to change my life drastically and must therefore be forever impressed upon my memory in sharp detail.
I was an only child, and as such children grow into adults who are thusly, I was both precocious and curious. Early on I had learned I must know all there was to know about what went on in our house. My father's moods were determined accordingly, and though all of us at the Heights were subject to Sir Martyn's displeasure when things did not go well, I had to bear the brunt of his anger more often than anyone else. For this reason, I had become adept over the years at cleverly ferreting out every scrap of information posessed by those in our household, so I might know my father's wherabouts and disposition every minute of each day.
It might seem unnatural to you that I, his only child, had such a fear of him that I would spy upon him like a skulking beast, when even in a rage, he had never struck me and, indeed, treated me only with tender kindness. Perhaps it was this kindness which I feared, for deep within his eyes I could see an animal presance when he looked upon me, sometimes as if he had wish to devour my flesh with the sharp teeth of a wolf. The contradictory nature of his actions and eyes quite disarmed me, and armed me against myself, and as such I went to great lengths to keep out of his way.
In this, I was aided by the rest of our household, who felt sorry for me and thought me strange to constantly reject the suitors who came to call, though I heard them mumble that naught else might be expected of me, I had been reared in so peculiar a fashion, with no women about. Indeed, it was whispered amongst the halls of the Heights that I would never love a man, and that I should have been born a boy. I knew this only indirectly, for such talk was not proper when discussing a girl of my station, but still I could see their eyes, amused and curious as they looked upon me.
It was not that I was boyish in appearance. Certainly, I was not dainty as women of my circle in society were expected to be... my skin was paler than it should be, and my hair as black as night. They were offset by the strange molten copper of my eyes, which with my unruly hair gave me a wild appearance. While the rest of society dressed their women in soft pastels, the colors next to my face made me appear bleached, and washed out. And so I wore darker colors that suited me better- midnight blues and deep scarlet gowns, both colors of which were unpopular for women.
My disposition as well, was lacking. Intelligence in a woman was undesirable, but alongside it, I was unruly. There was nothing I enjoyed more than to set off on my dear dapple-gray gelding, Eternity, and taste the wind as I rode him fast down the open roads leading to the Estate. I had grown up childhood friends to the stableboys of the Heights, and could run fast, spit far, and play dice and cards with the best of them.
Life in the Heights was, despite butting heads with my father, quite pleasant. He only wished that I should find him a proper husband to rule over the inheritance in which he had so much pride.
The house was set in northern Cornwall, upon the wild, savage moors that stretched to the sea, cutting a stark brutal line against the horizon, for the heaths here were barren of trees, although alders, birches, oaks and ashes could be found in the deep, sheltered combs. A wood consisting in the main of ancient Cornish elms surrounded the manor itself. But their branches were sparse and pointed steeply upward before spreading into narrow crowns, so the elms seemed a part of the fierce sweep of the land as well, though other less austere trees had been planted over the ages and helped to soften the harsh effect.
The Heights itself was old and fashioned in the shape of an E, for it had been built during the reign of Queen Elizabeth. It was constructed of Pentewan rock hewn from the cliffs near Mevagissey at Chapel Point and brought by wagons to the site where the house stood. Over the ages, the rough stone had weathered to a pale silver gray that reflected every nuance of light and shadow, giving the manor a forbidding appearance, especially at dusk, I thought.
It was three stories high, counting the attic. The main portion was topped by a flat, battlemented roof; the wings were capped with steep hip and valley roofs from which rose distinctive Tudor chimneys. Ivy grew up the front wall, around the arch framing the massive oak doors, and halfway up the sides of the towers, making the Heights seem less stern and grim that in really was. Long, narrow casement windows with leaded lozenge panes of fine Venetian glass overlooked a portion of wood that, along with the beautiful multicolored gardens and sprawling green lawns of the manor, formed the park. The gardens were all constantly cared for, lest the untamed moors beyond reclaim the stolen terrain, as I often fancied they wished to do.
Sometimes late at night, when I lay huddled in my bed, the wind blowing in from the coast a few miles away would carry to my ears the sound of the roaring seas breaing against the distant cliffs, and I would imagine the earth crumblind before the onslaught of the waves, the Heights falling down into the sea, and tumbling into the oceans depths. My life was encompassed with ruthless, relentless elements, and the Heights was very much a place of isolation, for we had only one near neighbor, a small farm far off.
Thus, when the carriage arrived from London, bearing my father and his new bride, and my new step-siblings, it was quite a change to the dreary monotony, and the self-created ghosts that flitted about the manor. As I watched the finely dressed family emerging from the gilded carriage, my eyes were ablaze with the excitement of having others about the lonely halls.
