So...the last few months have been insane.
If you're interested in the cliched, fic author life drama explanation then you can read my pinned tumblr post. The important thing is that I'm back with what was an 8,600 word chapter that (at 2:30am) I've decided to split into two. You guys deserve an update! And hopefully, I'll be able to crack the problem I'm having with part two because it has a scene that I'm super excited to share.
Getting this chapter out feels like some much appreciated normalcy so a massive thank you to everyone who left a comment in my absence. Each one is hugely appreciated and it truly has encouraged me to break through my writer's block.
'We wandered to the Pine Forest
That skirts the Ocean's foam,
The lightest wind was in its nest,
The tempest in its home.
The whispering waves were half asleep,
The clouds were gone to play,
And on the bosom of the deep
The smile of Heaven lay;
It seemed as if the hour were one
Sent from beyond the skies,
Which scattered from above the sun
A light of Paradise.'
~ 'To Jane: The Recollection,' Percy Bysshe Shelley (1822)
Chapter Fifty-Six - 'Tempest in its Home,' Part I
Kat slid her fingers across the smooth flank of her horse. The carved chess piece reared up over her opponent's pawn as she surveyed the battlefield which lay before her.
"Is this an intimidation tactic?"
"No," Kat said shortly, setting her knight down onto the chessboard with a satisfying thud. "This is what you get for taking my bishop."
Rolling his eyes, Knox slid his own knight forwards before sprawling back out on the opposite side of the faded, woollen rug. "That was moves ago," he complained, glancing sideways at his roommate.
Henry Stick sat in a plaid dressing gown, a cigarette drooped lazily from one hand, and the other lay upon a Latin textbook spread open on his desk. To Knox's disappointment, he seemed more content studying to the sound of their bickering than showing loyalty to his besieged bunkmate.
Kat rapped twice on the edge of the board, drawing his attention back to the game, and away from any chance of annoying the boy out of his generosity.
With a drawn-out groan, Knox studied the possible moves before him, ducking down to avoid the rising, orange rays of sunlight that crept through the open window.
Kat glanced at their alarm clock.
7:45 am.
They'd been playing for almost two hours.
Shadowy thoughts rose like a bitter fog. Kat pulled the quilt tighter around her shoulders. The fabric strained over her clavicle as she reached out to manoeuvre her Queen into position - and the encroaching thoughts away from her mind. "Check."
Knox sucked in a breath. "That was a cruel move, Kat."
His roommate snorted, dropping all pretense of finishing his homework. "She's beaten you twice, Overstreet."
"Shut up!"
"Shhh!" Kat glared across the game, "stop being rude. He might withhold the coffee."
Stick chuckled at her pout. "I would never," he said equably, gesturing to the second pot he'd pilfered from the dining hall. "Although, a third is probably unhealthy."
The two exchanged an incredulous look.
"Let the record show that I tried," Stick said mildly. There was a skeptical tilt to his mouth as he turned his gaze from Knox's jittering knee, and returned to the pages of his textbook.
"Rematch?" Her competitor's eyes widened imploringly, all hints of his previous taunts erased by the guise of innocence.
"No," Kat said firmly. Welton boys had pouting down to an art, but Kathleen's pride allowed no room for such tactics. "I told you, this is justice for last time."
"Oh, come on!" He reached forward but she slapped his hands away. Yelping, Knox drew back and Kathleen swooped in to snatch up her King.
"Cheat!" She glared, cradling the carved piece to her chest. "Now take your turn."
"So you can win." His eyes slid pointedly between Kat and the game splayed out between them. After a pause, he reluctantly made the final step to his defeat. "One more match?"
She shook her head, the movement apologetic as she gestured to the clock. "I need to get dressed."
Knox smirked, "is that code for making out with Nuwanda?"
"No!" Kat felt her cheeks flame as she took possession of his knight. Instead of placing it aside, she flicked the figurine at his foot. "Get your mind out of the gutter."
"Aw, is he really that bad?" He teased delightedly, "is the great Charles 'I drive girls crazy' Dalton a romantic fraud?"
"Actually," Stick interjected, "Charlie's an excellent kisser."
"Ha!" Kat stuck her tongue out. Satisfaction displaced any lingering feelings of embarrassment as she watched Knox's face drop. "That'll teach you not to gossip with Todd."
He ignored her, all attention fixed on his roommate. "What-" He spluttered, "you...him...when?!"
Stick shrugged, "fourth year." His tone was nonchalant, but as soon as Knox turned away his eyes flicked up to meet Kat's with shared amusement.
With a smile, Kat guided her Queen to victory. "Checkmate."
XXXX
Kathleen perched on a wobbly chair before her vanity, hands poised above the array of shining jars and cut-glass bottles scattered across its surface. Set apart from the mayhem lay a copy of Good Morning, Midnight, its worn pages decorated with a grimly meta splattering of coffee grains and tears.
Without Knox's pouting the world had dulled.
With a sigh, she traced the outline of the hollowed reflection staring back from her mirror. It hardly felt like the resume of normal lessons. The last few days had passed in the slow blur of an inescapable dream, yet she felt - and looked - as if she had not slept.
'It isn't my face, this tortured and tormented mask,"* Kat quoted mournfully.
Her gaze dropped to the grainy wood, its lines wavering as she swept a finger beneath her damp lashes.
No more, she thought determinedly, letting the pressure linger as she squeezed her eyelids shut.
With a breath, Kat drew herself up and rolled back her shoulders. Her eyelids fluttered open as she took another sip of the coffee which Stick had kindly provided. The cool, creamy liquid sunk into the dry creases of her lips like a soothing, tinted balm.
Tinted...the word unmoored, floating through the haze of her consciousness until it landed on the shores at the forefront of her mind...colour.
Kat clung to the budding avenue as she selected a powder and a pearlescent-pink lipstick. Mixing and dabbing with the formulas, she began to paint over the pale, grey shadows and cracks of exhaustion until the ghostly face framed by the mirror began, once more, to resemble a fragile image of her own.
Suddenly, a faint rustle sounded from outside her door. Heavy footsteps hit the creaky floorboard at the threshold, and her body tensed as someone knocked lightly with two, successive taps.
Quickly, she pulled her jumper on - not bothering to tuck in the white tails of her shirt - before padding across the room to investigate.
The thought of her grandfather filled Kat with dread as she eased open the door.
"Nuwanda." Her voice betrayed her surprise. His eyes were red-rimmed, but his bemused expression pulled a relieved laugh from her throat.
"Expecting someone else?" He peered inside with mock concern, "should I be worried?"
Kat rolled her eyes, "not if you avoid the wardrobe."
He stepped inside with a grin. "That's a shame because someone left a love letter on your doorstep. If this were Desdemona's handkerchief-"
"Are you quoting Shakespeare to me?" Kat interrupted, "because that is the least romantic scene."
Charlie dragged a hand roughly through his hair, "you said no plagiarizing." He looked almost sheepish at the memory as he produced a square envelope from behind his back. "From what Keating said in class, Othello seems as far from the romantic sonnets as I can get."
"Iago's schemes tend to have that effect," Kat replied drily. She gestured for him to take a seat, then took the envelope and held it up for inspection. The thick, creamy paper had a familiar quality that she couldn't quite place.
Resting one hip against the furniture, Kat slid a nail file beneath the seal. Inside, lay a floral sympathy card.
Nolan.
"We're setting up camp in Keating's office," Nuwanda announced. He dropped onto the window bench, stretching his legs out towards the copy of I Capture the Castle* which lay abandoned at its end. "I said we'd be down in five."
"I can be ready in two," Kat replied, surreptitiously hiding her grimace behind the empty condolences.
Sharing your sorrow.
Kathleen fought the urge to scoff as she shoved the card into the depths of the nearest draw. If she knew her grandfather, his sorrow would be for the tarnished reputation of the school.
With sympathy.
If that were true, Nolan would stop sending perfunctory cards as the headmaster. Instead, he would sit down and be her grandfather.
The draw shut with a slam.
From the edge of her mirror, Kat caught a flash of Charlie's concern. She turned away and began to studiously brush through her tangled hair.
After a beat, Charlie spoke again, the beginning of a smirk clear in his tone. "And the other three minutes?"
A faint smile graced Kathleen's lips as she shifted towards the mirror. She lifted her gaze - ready to level him with an arched brow - but it was not coyness she found reflected back.
Her breath caught at the intensity in his eyes as they lingered, clear and dark, on the strands which fell softly around her shoulders.
She reached up, twisting a silken ribbon at the base of her neck when a light touch encircled her wrists.
Gingerly, his hands slid down to grip the chair back. "Could you leave it down?"
"Alright." She tilted her head questioningly, a light pink dusting her skin. "Why?"
He took a step closer, one arm dropping to her waist. "I like it," he confessed in a low voice, coiling a few tendrils around his fingers. "Used to distract the hell out of me the few times you did."
Shaking fingers, Kat registered with a rush of pleasure. She twined her arms around his neck, her breath quickening at his close, conspiratorial smile.
He kissed her cheek with a wink. "And now I'm allowed to do this," he let the strands slip through his fingers as their calloused pads curled beneath her jaw.
Dizzily, Kat tried to retain her focus, but the memory of the music room pulsed through her veins. "Only this?" She murmured, her eyes flitting unashamedly down to his lips.
"No," desire tangled with a disbelieving laugh, "fuck fate. I'll take whatever you allow."
Charlie swallowed as she blinked up at him, a dimpled smile lighting her face. He revelled in her impish look, tracing its edges with the barest brush of his lips.
The quip on her tongue unfurled, lost as it fell from her mouth into his own. She rolled onto her tiptoes, arching into him as burning hands trailed down the ridges of her spine. Her shirt crinkled, rising as his fingers dipped over the millimetre of bare skin.
Kathleen's heart clenched at the delicacy of his touch; its slow reverence eliciting a string of syllables which trickled through their namesake like liquid heat. Her arms tightened around his shoulders, anchoring herself as he deepened the kiss.
Lungs burning, she pulled back. "They'll be wondering where we are," she whispered, fascinated by the feel of his hummingbird heart pressed beside her own.
"We agreed on forgetting time," he chided, brazenly leaning in to press another kiss to the corner of her mouth.
"Charlie!" She protested, all too aware that she hadn't moved an inch.
"We should banish it," he continued, still holding her close. "It could be my comeback article."
Her hands uncurled, slithering down to rest on the rolled sleeves at his elbows. "I doubt they'd allow it," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. "Nolan insists on lifelong bans."
"Please let me forget that you're related," he groaned, "especially at times like this."
"At times like what?" She stepped back and straightened her shirt, finally tucking in its tails. "When we're late for a meeting? I know my grandfather hates unpunctuality, but disowning him over it seems a little excessive."
Charlie let out a melodramatic sigh. "I'll pretend you didn't say that." He paused to check his own uniform, tugging at his already loosened tie until he looked even more debauched than usual. "And think fondly of the time you compared him to a Hitchcock villain."
"Luckily for you, he won't be around to see any resemblance in." She felt her throat tighten at the bitterness underlying her tone, "he'd rather send a card than look at me."
Nuwanda snorted. "How supportive."
"Apparently it's fashionable for the guardians in this place."
"Let me know if that trend ever dies; I'll be the first to dance on its grave."
"You may have to fight Keating for it."
"It'd be an honour," he shot back, eyes dragging appreciatively down her body. "And you'd better support the right candidate."
Kat twisted around to face him, her satchel swinging from one hand. "There was an insinuation there," her eyes narrowed playfully, "what are you insinuating?"
He slipped his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Nothing. You have a history of backing the wrong person, that's all."
"Oh my gosh." She tossed him an incredulous look. "This is about Cameron."
"Your knight in shining armour?"
"Dueling champion," Kat said emphatically, "there's a difference."
"Oh?" He swept her books up, mirth and mischief brightening his smirk. "No protests?"
Kat rolled her eyes. "Is there even the slightest chance you'll listen?"
"No, but that's never stopped you before."
"Perhaps I've matured," she looked up at him as they meandered out into the hallway. "Or maybe your courting techniques finally wore me down."
"You're not the type to give up," he mused with a flash of his usual, wholly provoking spirit. "I guess love really does change people."
"Are you trying to sabotage this whole gentlemanly behaviour thing?" She ducked to re-fasten her bracelet, the action masking her pleased smile at his admission.
"Thing!?" He clutched the books to his chest in exaggerated offense, "I've been trying to carry your stuff for months. You were the one sabotaging me."
Laughing, she glided blithely around the corner. "Looks like I failed on that fr-"
A small boy darted across the hallway. He gripped a letter in one hand, while both arms spun like a cyclone. He skidded to a halt, hands fumbling with the paper as he blinked up at the older students.
"You're the dead boy's friends," he blurted, unmoving as a second boy slammed into him.
His friend grabbed a handful of the first boy's blazer, yanking him back and reaching out to steal the letter before stomping down the stairs. The young boy's bewilderment faded to horror as the seniors cringed.
"Sorry," he squeaked, his face ashen.
"It's fine," Kat replied in a kind voice, but her lips pressed thin as she turned on her heel, marching them past the shaking first-year.
Hushed whispers swelled like a rolling tide through the halls. Fearful eyes and eager tongues accompanied their steps with equal measure. The crude surveillance stopped only when Hopkins passed by, aiming a light swat at the back of gawking, third-year's head.
Charlie muttered something under his breath, too quiet for even Kat to hear, though the sharp slash of his jaw hinted at its mutinous nature.
They were halfway down the staircase when Charlie broke from his venomous reverie, one hand moving to pry her folded arms apart.
She looked at him questioningly, but he stayed silent, teeth still clenched from the encounter. He merely tapped her lower bicep. Kat reached for her sleeve when a sharp sting caused her to flinch. She shoved aside the fabric, eyes widening at the litany of pale crescents indented into her skin.
Wordlessly, Kat stole a book from Nuwanda's loosened hold and wrapped both hands securely around it, her chipped, red nail polish shining in the cool daylight as they detoured through the empty courtyard.
Her shoes clicked as they trotted across the flagstones. Their shadows merged, contorting into monstrous figures like those on a Rorschach test as they passed through the stone arches. Long fingers of ivy trailed down the structure, its evergreen leaves caressing their shoulders as they stopped by a damaged pillar.
Charlie reached into his blazer and retrieved a cigarette.
With her back pressed to the foliage, Kat settled against the cold wall. She shivered, watching as he conjured a flame amidst the crisp air. He cupped the fragile flicker, shoulders loosening as he inhaled.
Nuwanda's eyes traced the curling leaves above them, while Kat's traced the blurring lines of his profile through the mist. She wanted to ask how he's doing but the syllables eluded her. Like the fragments of her etiquette lessons, any chartered course floated beyond her grasp on the sea of smoke drifting from his lips. There was no guidebook, it seemed, for loss.
"Like what you see?" Charlie pressed his lighter into her gloveless hands. He ignited the flame, warming her palms with an alacrity wholly at odds with violet circles beneath his eyes.
Kat said nothing, but her displeasure prompted him to shrug dismissively.
"I'm alright."
"So am I," she retorted.
His eyes narrowed, flicking down through the haze of blue-grey smoke to the fading, white marks beneath her sleeve.
Sweetness from the woodsy tobacco merged with the morning air as they stood in silence, shoulder to shoulder, beneath the aged arbour of stone and vine.
Embers shed like flower petals, each vestige glimmering until it hit the cold earth. Charlie exhaled, his last drag extinguishing any trace of vulnerability. His posture shifted, straightening into the same forced nonchalance he'd worn after Nolan's punishment.
However outspoken Charlie tended to be, someone had shamed this blasé defence into him, and the realisation caused a fierce loathing to well up inside of her.
"None of us are alright," she admitted, climbing the steps to the open side door. "But we will be."
Low chatter became audible as the pair entered the smooth interior of Welton's hallway. Splintered phrases grew clearer, and the voices louder as they rounded the corner to Keating's office. Although its occupants remained masked by frosted glass, the enthusiastic tones of Knox's voice rang clear through the corridor.
"BECAUSE I'M PRETTIER THAN CHET DANBURRY, PITTS!"
Kat paused, one hand clutching the metal handle, and the other smothering a giggle. She could feel the same laughter reverberating through Charlie, his body close to her side.
"Idiot," he mouthed, pressing a finger to his lips before counting to three.
BANG!
He flung the door open, entering with a flourish. "Want to shout that any louder, Knoxious?"
The society jumped.
Knox wobbled in his seat, barely catching himself on a nearby end table, while Pitts had a hand pressed to chest, and Cameron dabbed at his coffee-stained tie with a scowl.
"Good morning, Charlie." Todd calmly raised a teacup to his lips, tilting the porcelain so the pair caught a hint of his concealed laughter.
Meeks, who had seized a small lamp from the desk, lowered it in relief. "Thank God," he breathed.
"What were you planning to do?" Nuwanda snatched the lamp and held it up for inspection, "bludgeon me to death with a night light?"
"I respect your bravery," Kat added cheerily, "but I don't know if maiming Keating - or whichever teacher you were expecting to come through that door - is really your brightest idea."
"I'd pay you to maim Hager," Nuwanda said sourly. He dropped the stack of books into Meeks' lap, then turned to pull two, plump cushions from the top of a bookshelf. He threw one to Kat, who promptly dropped it next to Todd's seat. He followed, reaching out to clasp a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder as he settled by his other side.
Todd handed her a rose-printed teacup. "They've been at it for twenty minutes," he muttered, nodding towards the argument on the far side of the room.
"Pittsie made a joke about Chris," Nuwanda drawled, craning his neck to watch as Cameron tried to play referee. "It nearly caused a dust-up in the dorms."
Silence fell as she locked eyes with Knox.
"Oh no." She shrank back, but his passionate tirade swept over the skeptical trio.
"No, it's an objective fact," Knox insisted with a scandalised look. "Age hasn't improved Chet, ask Kat!"
Pitts drew a weary breath. "Alright," he spoke slowly as if the words pained him. "Is it true that Knox is...that his...that his lips are-" He broke off, but his opponent sent him a sharp glare. "Supple. That his lips are more supple."
Kat shrugged, biting the inside of her cheek to taper a smile. "I'm sorry," she replied with careful diplomacy, "but I'm not really in a position to judge."
"I should hope not." Todd's voice was low but its sarcastic edge caused Charlie to splutter into his tea.
Knox frowned.
"But you do have better hair," she added with a guilty smile. Perhaps it was unkind to Pitts, but Kat felt an overwhelming desire to see this debate play out.
Meeks chuckled at the betrayal. "We could conduct an experiment," he suggested earnestly, "watch for pupil dilation."
"My love is not a lab rat!"
Kat watched, bemused, as the scientists joined forces against him. Their jargon muddled his declarations of high romance until they began to tame its vivid hues. Somewhat placated by the verbal Venn diagrams, Knox settled back, his expression muted by shadow.
Keating's office was still dark, its embroidered, floral curtains half-drawn in a way that divided the light, leaving its lining of rosewood shelves and wall tapestries illuminated, and its corners intimately shaded.
Their teacher's hideaway had always seemed small, but with the lively boys squeezed into every chair and narrow corner, its clutter of tomes and knick-knacks seemed more of an Aladdin's cave than ever.
Meeks finally set down the extra books, adding them to the haphazard pile beneath his chair as the debate wound to a close. The wind had picked up, blustering against the thin windows as white dashes of snow coated the glass.
"How is everyone doing?" He asked, his voice unusually subdued.
Incoherent mumbles accompanied the flurry of sugar and clinking porcelain as Cameron distributed more tea brewed from Keating's special, Harrods* stash.
"Pretty shit to be honest," Nuwanda said, squaring his shoulders. "But that's okay." He kept his eyes fixed on Meeks, but Kat saw his mouth curve upwards at the echo of her words.
"No, it's not." Cameron set the teapot down sharply, "you're having nightmares."
Charlie stayed silent.
"Um, do you want to talk about it?" Knox asked tentatively.
"No."
"It works both ways, " Kat said softly, "the communication thing." Her chest flooded with warmth as the other boys nodded fiercely. "I'm always dumping my troubles on you. I'm here if you ever need to do the same."
"I thought that was a best friend thing," he deflected. "We're not just friends anymore."
"No," she admitted, rolling the sugar tongs nervously across her palms.
All five heads snapped in her direction.
Ignoring them, she passed the tongs to Charlie. He watched her expectantly, a crease forming in his brow as she darted back from his touch. "It makes us super best friends."
"Super best friends?"
"Yeah, best friends who kiss."
"Thank God for that," he grinned. His amusement grew as Kat blushed at her own bluntness.
"Get a room," Knox whined.
"We would, but unfortunately Cameron's in it," Charlie quipped. He bypassed the sugar, using the tongs to pinch playfully at the fabric of his roommate's shirt. Teasingly, he reeled Cameron towards him, then mimed the motions of throwing him out.
The exchange prompted laughter so loud that even Cameron failed to uphold his stoic front, smiling as he swatted at Charlie like a buzzing fly.
"A shared room!" Kat gasped, stretching across their deformed circle until her fingertips landed on Meeks' notebook.
He saw nothing but a whirl of brown hair and grey skirt as the possession was wrenched from beneath his feet. Meeks blinked, "what are you-"
"Shh," Kat waved off his protests and flipped open the cover. Her nails tapped at the list scrawled into the back, "I knew it!" She thrust the page towards him. "Look!"
"Neil's list." He collapsed back against the chair, eyes roaming guiltily over the remaining society members. "I was worried about the snow," he explained, "so Neil spent silent study brainstorming indoor meeting ideas."
Pitts scrambled for a glimpse, his leg clipping Meeks' elbow as he frog-leaped across the circle. "Kathleen, you genius!"
"Let me see," Charlie took the exercise book, head bowed as he devoured the words. "Holy shit," he breathed, "a sleepover."
Still kneeling, Kat sunk into a mock curtsey, her arms sweeping out like a ballerina.
"For a meeting?" Knox asked, smiling at her theatrics.
"Yes," Meeks confirmed miserably. He rubbed a hand across his face. "He wanted a sleepover meeting and I forgot. I had all his ideas with me, and I forgot."
Nuwanda forced a smirk. "It's all that studying, Meeksie. It rots your brain."
Cameron sighed. "How many rules are we breaking?"
"Bending," Todd corrected softly. "We need to be in bed by ten o'clock. The rules don't specify which bed or which room."
"And what about Kat?"
"Technically, my rules are unwritten," she said pensively, her gaze flicking back to the notebook. Neil's handwriting stirred something inside of her. He'd always pushed them to accomplish incredible yet transgressive things. Why not push themselves to achieve one more?
Drawing herself up, Kat spoke sympathetically, but an unmistakable gleam of mischief filled her eyes. "There's no rulebook to prove them."
"Fine," Cameron reasoned, "but consider our track record for bending rules. What happens if we get caught."
"Haven't you heard? We're the dead boy's friends," Charlie bit out, "Hager can hardly punish us for grieving."
Cameron stuttered. Whether it was the words themselves that made him pause, or the sarcasm being directed at someone other than himself, Kat didn't know, but Cameron fell silent as further plans buried his protest.
"He has a point," Meeks interjected. His tone softened as Charlie got to his knees with a fierce glare. "How can we rephrase that for Hager?"
"We don't." The hardness in Knox's eyes faltered on Todd, but it returned as he glanced between the pairs of roommates. "You've got each other. Kat and I have been fending for ourselves at night."
"It's worse at night," agreed Todd. His agitated fingers tore strips of blank paper from the notebook. "Emptier, as if the darkness could swallow up anyone left alone."
Cameron winced. "Alright," he exchanged a curt nod with Charlie, "they won't like it, but we cite emotional distress."
"To hell with the rules," Pitts agreed, pausing to swallow a mouthful of biscuit. "There's only a week left; I doubt we'd get more than a few detentions."
Kat hummed in agreement. "And Nolan's still avoiding me. He can't demand a separation without supervising it."
"Then we sleep in our room," Todd said decisively. He'd stopped attacking the paper, but his eyes remained fixed on Neil's handwriting - the letters smudged and slanted from their author's excitement.
"Any problems?" Charlie's glare was more threatening than reassuring as he scanned the group.
"No, but class starts in ten minutes." Meeks tapped his watch, "we should have enough time to snag something before breakfast ends."
"The croissants are calling," Pitts announced, using the edges of Keating's desk to hoist himself up.
Grumbles echoed as the others got to their feet. Cameron hurriedly stacked the tea tray, nodding to Kat as she balanced a hastily scribbled thank you note on the spout of Keating's teapot.
Minutes later, the students traipsed across the courtyard. Shivering, they ascended icy steps and heaved open the heavy door, its surrounding stone dark against the white remnants of snow as if Welton too, were in mourning.
I'd love tea and biscuits in Keating's office, isn't that the dream? I headcanon him picking up the habit from his time teaching in England.
Also, I've had a few Young Gods asks on my tumblr recently which has been lovely. Feel free to pop over (anon or not) at chloe-octavia.
* Good Morning, Midnight, Jean Rhys (1939) - one of the most miserable yet well-constructed modernist lit books I've ever read
* I Capture the Castle, Dodie Smith (1948)
* Harrods - an upmarket department store located in Knightsbridge, London. It has held Royal Warrants since 1910, marking the store as a supplier to the monarchy