Preface to my story, which is my take on Mary Stewart's 'Touch Not the Cat', a much-loved favourite. The book is almost entirely from one character's POV and I would dearly love to write it from a couple of the other character's.
Excerpt is from Wikipedia, "The heroine, Bryony, has the gift of telepathy, and is able to communicate subliminally with a man she regards as her lover, but whose identity she is unsure of. She knows that he is a blood relative, and assumes him to be one of her three male cousins, twins Emory and James, and the younger Francis. As the story begins, Bryony is being summoned back to her beloved England from abroad. As the story unfolds, she is always seeking to learn the identity of her telepathic contact." end of Wikipedia article
**List of Characters of Importance**
William Ashley- newly deceased victim of a car accident as the story begins, trust-holder of Ashley Grange, a moated English estate that has been in the family for generations.
Bryony Ashley- only child of William Ashley, who has recently living abroad in Madeira. (has a telepathic friend)
Emory, James and Francis Ashley- Bryony's first cousins, whose parents live abroad.
The Vicar - Mr. Bryanston
Mr. and Mrs. Henderson - caretakers of the estate, Mrs. Henderson is housekeeper to the Vicar, etc..
Rob Granger- homeboy, gardener, jack of all trades. He has a secret no-one knows.
*Minor Characters
the Underhills - Americans who have a lease agreement for part of the manor
Lesley Oker- a book seller
lawyer to the estate- Mr. Emerson
Jon Ashley's doctor- Dr. Walther Gotthardt
'And some win peace who spend
The skill of words to sweeten despair
Of finding consolation where
Life has but one dark end.
-from "The Riddlers" by Walter de la Mare
***hopefully the prologue will cover the necessary beginnings without being too confusing..
Prologue
The arduous climb back to the man's lodgings at the local sanatorium at Bad Tolz were taking their toll on him. The months of bronchial therapy and rest had brought him almost back to himself, so much so that he believed he was almost ready to return to England and his beloved Ashley Grange.
Thankfully, Ashley had no steep mountain grades or improbable ascents, being rather more the gentle Anglo geography in all its pastoral glory. He missed it dreadfully, as much as he missed the daughter who had been working in a hotel on the island of Madeira.
Where was that bus? He had left Bad Tolz behind far longer than it should've taken the lumbering vehicle to catch up with him.
And then, the faintest sound of a large engine reached him, gearing its way down as it hurriedly approached the hairpin curve below him. Tiredly, he stepped a little farther onto the pavement, as he waited for the bus to come up from behind.
It was a terrifyingly efficient blow from the large car's fender that tossed the man effortlessly aside, his body limply crashing through the brush, coming to rest in a crumpled heap against a stone.
Through a reddening fog of pain, he reached out in an agonizing cry...one that was heard half a continent away.
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Chapter 1
The period of endless waiting for his 'lover' to re-enter his life were taking their toll on Rob. It had been eight months of longing since he had been in her presence, and to his sorrow, even that had been the usual final exchange of instructions and assurances between the garden-boy and his 'betters' so to speak. He had driven them to the train, Bryony and her father, Mr. Ashley, on their way to Madeira and Switzerland respectively. He pondered his situation as he returned to his quiet abode. There was no other way in his mind to view his IRL relationship to Bryony. Garden-boy at best, which was why at present his identity was a mystery to Bryony and likely to remain so if he had anything to say about it.
It was certain to him by now that Bryony herself, while being at a loss as to his identity,was eager, even desperate to learn it. The affectionate but vague titles of 'boy' and 'you', long held ones from childhood, came through in most of telepathic dialogues, but at odd unguarded moments, the sensation of being pressed for an unwary acknowledgement to a given name came through, being strenuously resisted on his part. His best aids in keeping her at bay in this matter were the fact that she had three familiar Ashley cousins to be curious about as well, and his own completely hidden knowledge of Ashley ancestry.
No one had guessed it, the secret sharing of thought patterns that existed between he and Bryony Ashley, although Mr. Ashley, the titled heir to the entire estate, was a curious sort, given to odd looks and slightly weighted statements. Perhaps it was only the radar a father had in regards to a younger man's attention to his beloved daughter, but Rob was sometimes sure it was more than that. Whether or not, it was by and large unspoken subject between them, which suited Rob entirely. Even so, his respect for his employer had caused him to strive to be vigelant to be sober and chaste in his connections with Bryony.
As he finished the light supper left to him by Mrs. Henderson, the estate's housekeeper, retiring afterward to his solitary bed, he was careful to keep his thoughts from drifting towards her. The darkened telepathic doorway between them was comforting in that it existed, much as a telephone line linked him to the local grocer or doctor. Perilous or not, the link was as much a part of him as breathing.
Sometime during the night, he sat up in bed, aware of a sickening feeling, jarring, harsh, and acidic. Another darkened entrance had burst open in a torrent of hot molten feeling, and as it swirled through him, he insensately let the long familiar door swing open. Immediately the torrent surged toward it, seeking an outlet.
He spoke her name repeatedly, striving to stem the torrent, instantly protective of her mental processes.
"Bryony?" As her mind opened to his, he could feel the latent warmth of the island night, and the sensation of gently moving shadows superimposed themselves on his conscious thoughts. Perhaps flowers, but if so, they were of some pale, globular species not native to England.
He could sense her struggle to clear the fog of sleep from her brain, as the urgent pleadings of a dying man echoed through both of their consciousnesses.
"Bryony.. Are you listening?" he spoke earnestly into the distance between them.
The answer came back, the intensity of concentration reassuring him that she was getting the gist of what was being transmitted to them.
"I've got it, I think. It's Daddy, isn't it?... a pause... "He's taken ill?"
"Yes," he agreed hastily, "I don't know more, but you better go to him."
He heard nothing more as she broke off the connection, but her purposefulness came through. Bryony Ashley would soon be in Bad Tolz, and if God willed, perhaps eventually on Ashley Grange's hallowed ground itself.
well, tell me if you like it... I know I should be posting on my Sherlock story but I'm doing some research making sure the story will work... sigh... don't hate me.. if you haven't read Touch not the Cat you ought to..