It was a particularly warm September morning when Arlene Merle stepped off the train and sped quickly toward the platform's exit.
After waiting over two hours in King's Cross at the wee hours of the morning for her train, then spending a whopping four more in transit, she was quite content to never board a train for the rest of her God-forsaken life. She had spent the four hour transit sharing a carriage with a group of ladies who smoked nearly as often as they breathed, and by the time the train squealed to a stop, Arlene's eyes itched and watered, and she was one inhale away from succumbing to what was sure to be the mother-of-all coughing fits.
Fortunately, there didn't seem to be many people getting off at this platform, so she was able to make her escape unhindered. The ticket boy seemed a bit startled by the force Arlene used in thrusting her ticket into his open palm, but before he could remark, she was through the gates and hurrying down the cobbled path leading into the town. She cleared her throat, hoping to sooth the burning even a little bit, but that slight action sent her into a horrid coughing spell. She was lucky enough that it was early Sunday morning, so any potential witnesses to her horrid state were all at the chapel.
Though she was London-bred and certainly no stranger to factory smog and cigarette smoke, the climate had never agreed with her. In London everyone and their mother smoked at any time, any day, anywhere. Arlene's mother had dropped the habit after Father passed, more because they could no longer afford trivial expenses than a real desire to quit, and so Arlene had a relatively pleasant set of teenage years without feeling as though she was slowly suffocating in an every-present gray cloud. It was when Arlene's mother remarried that her life descended into ill-health and asthmatic attacks yet again.
Mrs. Sayer became Mrs. Merle, and it was within the Merle household that Arlene decided she might be better suited to country life. She was happy for her mother, she really was; Mrs. Merle had never quite recovered from everything she lost in the War. Arlene had been too young and sick to remember the telegram that arrived, reporting her father unaccounted for after their company was overrun by the enemy, but she remembered the telegrams about her uncles, their funerals, how her mother had once been sister to eight brothers and was now an only child. Arlene sincerely hoped that meat-grinder of a war would be the first, and last, of its kind — but she was paying attention to happenings in Germany, and the future did not look bright...
Arlene couldn't imagine the immense suffering her mother must have felt. Mother kept it all tucked neatly under the surface, instead throwing herself into supporting her family. The pair of them worked as seamstresses in a shop for a long stretch. Arlene went to school during the day, then joined her mother in the evening, oftentimes working well into the night. Arlene looked back on these nights fondly — although Arlene had eventually taken up sketching as well, Mother was the real artist. Arlene was her mannequin and, sometimes accidentally, pincushion.
Mother was so kindly regarded at the shop that she was often given excess fabric to do with as she pleased. With these, she made clothes for herself and Arlene. They were very lovely pieces, and the fabric was of a sort that they would have never been able to afford otherwise. Perhaps it was this dash of extravagance that initially attracted a noble gent to Arlene's mother. She was usually scorned by neighbors for dressing 'above her station,' whatever that rubbish was supposed to mean. But it was Mother who had the last laugh when someone 'above her station' walked into her life — or rather, her and Arlene's life.
He had barged in abruptly and obtrusively.
Arlene had just turned sixteen, and her Mother took her to the park. Mother was subdued as always and off in her own little world while Arlene used her new watercolors to paint the autumn-glazed landscape. While they were seated on a bench, a man across the park spotted them. He was dressed in a finely pressed suit, tweed jacket, cuff-links and all; Arlene knew not his profession but she was sure it was of the respectable kind. The moment he saw Arlene's mother, he took off his hat as though it was a reflex. He had behind him a gaggle of five girls, most in their teen years and a little one that only came up to his knee; all had brown hair and resembled him closely. Without even a glance at them, he strode quite confidently over to Arlene and her mother and introduced himself as Ebenezer Merle. Arlene remembered her mother smiled.
Mother had never smiled like that before Mr. Merle came into her ife.
Why in infernal hell a man named Ebenezer Merle was the one to do it for her? Arlene doubted even God had that answer.
It was not long after Dolly Sayer introduced herself to Ebenezer Merle that she became Mrs. Merle. Arlene believed they went on a total of maybe four outings before he proposed. In that entire time, Arlene had seen him precisely once: the day he introduced himself. Arlene had no idea they were engaged to be married until one evening she realized she had been helping her mother write invitations to the wedding for the past hour. A month after Arlene's sixteenth birthday, she had somehow become Arlene Merle and gained not only a father, but grandparents and five step-sisters. Arlene wasn't overly fond of Ebenezer, but she could tolerate him so long as he didn't have anything to say. He usually didn't; whenever he said something that upset Arlene, she'd start addressing him as 'Neezer' - it drove him starking mad.
His daughters were a different story. Idella, Thelma, Cordelia, Lavinia and Genevieve were all very annoying. Arlene was as fond of fairy tales as the next girl, but she didn't expect to get thrown into a house with four real-life wicked stepsisters. They could be perfectly nice to each other, but they did not like Arlene. Birdie, the little one, was only five and rather distractible, yet still remained the most sensible lady in the Merle line. (Arlene included.)
Ebenezer's mother was beautiful and dignified in her age, but in her soul dwelled a wicked gorgon. She put Cinderella and Snow White's stepmothers to shame. There was nothing Arlene, or any of the girls could do to escape Grandma Gorgon's disapproval. Arlene, her mother, step-father, five step-sisters, Grandma Gorgon, and Old Eustace all lived in a stately bring home in Southern London, completely opposite of where she'd grown up in Islington.
Arlene lasted as long as she could in that house. She thought she had been fairly well educated at her school in Islington, but the sisters had private tutors for each subject, and Neezer made it clear he expected her to keep up. Unfortunately, every adult in the Merle house smoked all hours of the day, including the tutors, so it wasn't long before she became sickly again. She was eager to move away as quickly as possible, but she ran into some unexpected troubles on that front.
Arlene had worked all through school but now that she lived in the Merle household, Neezer forbid any such nonsense. He feared it would reflect badly on him if his step-daughter was found working in some low-end shop or, heaven forbid, domestic service (which were really the only jobs available to her at that age), and so any hopes of earning money in conventional ways went out the window. She'd taken to drawing charcoal portraits for the odd shilling. It was slow money, but at least it was something. She had hoped to move out by the time she turned eighteen, but Neezer certainly had other plans for her. It became abundantly clear to Arlene that she was expected to fall in line with the rest of his daughters and let him arrange a nice gentlemen for her to settle down with and marry.
One could call her crazy, but Arlene was not overly fond of marrying a man after only four dates with him, regardless of how well it worked out for her mother. Arlene was an at least sixty dates kind of girl, and that was being generous. She was in no rush to get married.
By the time she was seventeen, however, Neezer had arranged marriages for twenty-year-old Cordelia and nineteen-year-old Thelma, both to men of little character and great wealth.
Luckily for Arlene, Neezer still had the twins Lavinia and Idella to deal with, and those two weren't keen on settling down anytime soon either. Lavinia had a variety of suitors, a couple of boys for every day of the week who fell at her feet. She was in no hurry to end her fun so soon. Idella was of a similar mindset, but she didn't care so much about boys and instead tagged along with other bright young things to pool parties, pubs, galas, and all sorts of frivolities.
Though they greatly despised Arlene, they had no grasp of the great service they were doing her by resisting their father's wishes. Now that Arlene was out of the house, she quite adored the pair of sisters, even though they'd never know it. Idella and Lavinia's behavior took all the focus off of her, and she was able to get by a few more years without having to worry about arranged suitors or anything of the like. She even enjoyed herself sometimes and she had her step-great-grandfather, Old Eustace, to thank for that. Old Eustace was Grandma Gorgon's father and as long as he was alive, he still had the final authority over the household.
Arlene only had four years with him, but she grew to love him like he was her own grandfather. He certainly treated her like his grandchild. Smoke didn't agree with him much either, so Arlene often spent her spare time playing chess or whist with Old Eustace and Birdie. He was so filled with love for everyone in his family, even intolerable beasts like Grandma Gorgon. He saw the good in everyone and made it a point to show Arlene and Birdie the good in others as well. He loved Cordelia for her boldness, Thelma for how invested she was in her studies and learning, Lavinia for her charisma and charm, Idella for her sense of humor, Genevieve for her athleticism, Birdie for her musical voice and quick wit, and though Arlene could hardly believe it, he loved her too, he loved her and her art and her dry humor and her pessimism. Indeed, he was his grand-children's greatest supporter; he supplied Arlene with all the supplies she might need and sent her to classes and lectures. As his health worsened, his generosity grew.
Old Eustace died last month, surrounded by family and teary grandchildren. He'd left to each of them a sum of money and a last wish, but to Arlene, he left something extra. Something he took great care in ensuring the others didn't find out about: a small plot of land, far away from the city and smoke. And she had saved up enough money through all her portrait work to buy herself a train ticket.
Arlene had attended his funeral and then made good on his wish for her: to leave London and find a place where she could breathe and create. She'd arranged a meeting with a land agent, packed her belongings, and then stepped on the 4 AM train to Northern Yorkshire, leaving letters to her mother and Birdie in her stead. If a train was to be her last taste of smoke, she would gladly never return to London ever again.
She took in a deep breath, basking in the unpolluted countryside air. Now that she wasn't a spluttering mess, she was able to appreciate her surroundings, and immediately her fingers itched to paint. The train had let her off at Willowdale. It was lovely little town in its own right, bright and alive this summer season with lush hedges adorned with blossoms. She was suddenly glad she'd packed so little in order to fit her art supplies; the land agent wasn't meant to meet her until noon, so she had plenty of time to capture her first glimpse at the new world before setting on another long journey.
Though she had traveled four hours by train, she still was a half day's wagon ride away from her destination— indeed, a wagon ride. Horses had been banned in favor of the steadily increasing number of automobiles on the streets Arlene had lived in, and apart from the odd older-gentleman or patrolling police officer, she hadn't seen a horse in ages. She supposed most of the roads out here made travel by automobile impossible; she was walking upon cobblestone rocks, loosely pressed together and quite difficult to walk on in her shoes. She had a feeling she had a lot to learn about countryside life, and she was very excited to get started.
Morning at Willowdale went in an unexpected, but undoubtedly pleasant direction.
Arlene intended to wait at a bench and perhaps paint while she waited for the land agent to arrive, but she had scarcely been seated for more than ten minutes before she heard the church-bells ringing and saw people trickling out onto the streets. She was immediately noticed by the locals, some levying her with suspicious looks while others were merely curious. Arlene was a bit surprised when a group of older women approached her head-on. In London, when people noticed one another they made it their mission to act as though they hadn't.
"Good morning!" one of the ladies greeted her, not smiling but sounding pleasant anyway. "New in the area, are you? Where'd you come in from, then?" Being spoken to so directly was like a secondary breath of fresh air; she was liking the Northern countryside already.
"I came straight in from King's Cross," Arlene answered, closing her sketchpad to give the women her full attention. There were three in total, all looking as though they could be her grandmother's age. Though none of them were smiling yet, Arlene wasn't bothered; she was fairly adept in talking at people and didn't particularly worry if they didn't like what she was saying. "I'm only here until the wagon arrives. It's such a lovely spot, though; I could spend my whole life here."
Arlene wasn't trying to be funny, but the ladies all laughed at her statement, the one on the left shaking her head. "You'd get sore spending your life on those hard old benches," she said, and still chuckling, she scrutinized Arlene's appearance. "Have you been sitting in this heat for long, then? Where's your hat?"
As it turned out, none of the women needed an answer. Before Arlene could think of formulating a response that didn't involve 'I forgot it while running away from home' one of the other women spoke up. "You'll burn yourself to a crisp out here. Maude's is just down the road, we'll do our waiting there, if you don't mind."
In any other situation, she might have felt highly uncomfortable, but there was such an air of ease and simple curiosity between the women that Arlene didn't feel as though she was intruding at all. They didn't say much to her on the short walk to Maude's, instead chattering amongst themselves about the church service. Geraldine was the tallest and oldest of the three, and she was also the one who had first approached Arlene. Agnes, the shortest of the bunch, had invited Arlene into the home and walked with a hobble but no cane. Every so often, her shoe would hit a loose piece of cobble, and Geraldine and Maude would both swoop in to steady her. Arlene was so unnerved by this that she found herself offering Agnes an arm, which the woman steadfastly refused.
"I've still got me legs, haven't I?" she stated proudly. Above her, Geraldine and Maude exchanged a long suffering look.
"You've got legs as long as we've got we arms," Geraldine grouched and stopped Agnes from stumbling yet again.
Maude's was a little brick house just down the road from the bench Arlene had been sitting on, holding a ground floor and one above it. There was a young man who looked to be about Arlene's age in the kitchen, taking long gulps of water from a huge metal tankard. Now, she certainly wasn't in a rush to chase boys after moving here to escape all that nonsense, but she could appreciate an unusually handsome specimen. If it wasn't for the fact that he was wearing dirty overalls and muck-covered boots, she might have thought he was one of those bright young people whom Idella always ran around with. He was unbelievably handsome, with wavy black locks and steel colored eyes. When he noticed them enter the room, he set down the tankard and grinned sheepishly, as though he was caught doing something he shouldn't.
Maude, setting her bag on the table, marched right up to him. "Have you been at my pies again, boy?"
"No," he said, laughing nervously. "I only came here to take a drink, Gran. I swear to you."
Arlene couldn't tell if he was lying, but she was more interested in his accent. While it had a slightly Northern twang, he otherwise sounded like one of Idella's associates, very particular in his pronunciation.
"Well, take your drink with you," Maude said firmly, "I won't have you hovering around my kitchen." The young man gave another sheepish nod and went to leave, but before he went out the door, Geraldine grabbed his arm to stop him.
"How's the little'un, is he feeling any better?" Geraldine asked, concern lacing her voice. "The Vicar led another prayer today. We hope he and Rachel might feel well enough next Sunday. Some fresh air will be good for them, anyhow."
A panicked sort of look flickered across the young man's face, but he soon plastered on a big smile. "I hope so too, Nan. Rest assured, he's not completely miserable. When Al forgets he's sick, he has us running up walls trying to catch him," he added the last part as though it was as grim a thing as the illness. "If Rachel isn't in church next Sunday, please pass on prayers that our next child is easier."
"Oh, go on, you cheeky boy," Geraldine chuckled, and with a pearly white grin, the handsome farmer went on his way.
Agnes nudged Arlene slightly, giving her a knowing smile. "You don't see them made like that around here often, don't you?"
"I'm afraid I wouldn't know," Arlene answered. She was unwilling to candidly compliment a woman's husband, no matter how handsome he might be. "He had a bit of an accent, didn't he?" she asked without thinking it might be rude.
Geraldine raised her eyebrows at Arlene, seemingly impressed. "You've got a direct way about you, haven't you? Let's have your name before we start getting into anyone else's; the last time we had someone pass through our town, we talked about everything except his name, and then we never saw him again. Shan't make that mistake again!" She shook her head at the thought.
Arlene chuckled, "Well, I don't plan to disappear so entirely after I leave, unless something very bad happens. My name is Arlene Merle."
"Merle?" Over at the fireplace, Maude was beginning to boil a pot of water, talking as she worked. "I don't know anyone who knows any Merles in the area. Where are you from?"
"Islington—"
"Irish, are you?" Agnes turned with an excited grin, "Me sister-in-law grew up in Islington. Did you ever meet a Quinnelly?"
...Admittedly, Arlene had known a few Quinnellies in her time at Islington. When she said this to Agnes, she found herself diverted into a thirty minute conversation about each instance she'd met a Quinnelly, and then of course Agnes told her where her sister-in-law had gone to since then, and where all of her descendent had gone, and where Arlene might find them if she were to be in the area. It was only after they'd straightened out all the Quinnelly business that Arlene added that her mother remarried, and she spent the past four years living in Chelsea.
By now, Maude had poured the tea and served everyone fresh pastries, and they were all seated around the table. Arlene kept a keen eye on the clock so that she wouldn't miss her wagon, but she found herself thoroughly enjoying her time in Willowdale thus far. Geraldine, Maude, and Agnes all seemed to have the innate kindness of Old Eustace, and she really couldn't help but feel at home already.
"You don't sound Chelsea," Geraldine told her, like that was a great compliment. Arlene took it as one and beamed at her. "What are you doing up here, a young thing like yourself? Has your mum got any relatives? We don't get many Irish in North Riding, but..."
"My father was the Irish one," Arlene said, quite amused with how folks here seemed to fixate on relations. "And I'm afraid I'm quite out of relatives on his side. The War, you know..."
The room fell silent and the air seemed to weigh more all at once. Arlene had noticed the graveyard when the train pulled into the station; there were many graves laden with fresh flowers, too many to count.
Geraldine placed her hand over Arlene's, looking at the young woman with a touch of concern. "I'm sorry to hear that. But you're here all on your own? Where are you headed?"
Arlene brightened up, seizing the change of topic. "Old Eustace - er, that's what my Grandad calls himself," she explained after seeing the ladies's initially confused faces, "- he left me a little spot of land not too far from here. He told me I'm to sell it to the highest buyer and use the money to find somewhere to live."
That had been a rather confusing detail of Old Eustace's letter to her, his insistence that he get rid of the piece of land. He didn't say so in the letter, but Arlene was under the impression that he thought the land was cursed.
While Arlene thought it was a shame to sell a good piece of land when she could just as well live in it, she stumbled across an amazing offer that came from one Mr. Mallett Jennings, land agent of a neighboring family. Mr. Jennings assured Arlene that he would not only buy the piece of land from her quite generously, but he would rent it to her at a lowered rate. Eustace probably would not have approved of her living in the land she sold, but she had been so eager to escape Neezer and Grandma Gorgon that she took the first best offer she was given.
"So," Arlene continued, "I'm going to live in the cottage I sold."
"Where's that?" Maude asked, sneaking another pastry onto Arlene's plate without her noticing. Agnes poured herself another helping of tea and took a sip.
"Little Hangleton," Arlene answered, and with those two simple little words, she almost killed Agnes.
The woman choked on her tea, coughing and spluttering, spitting her dentures out in the process. Arlene was frozen, horrified as Geraldine launched into action and whacked Agnes roughly on the back, allowing her to spit out the tea caught in her throat. Agnes remained heaving for a few more moments with Geraldine rubbing her back, all the while Maude stared at her with wide eyes.
"Oh," was all Maude said.
Arlene put down her cup of tea. "Oh?" she repeated, glancing incredulously at Agnes. "Mrs. Otterburn, I almost killed you! What do you mean, oh? Is there something the matter with Little Hangleton?"
"The people there are a good sort," Geraldine assured her, earning scowls from Agnes and Maude. "Well," she hesitated. "Most of them are a good sort. Some of them are a bit..."
"Unbearable!" Maude said, while Agnes said a much more inappropriate word.
Geraldine hushed them, and turned back to Arlene. "Some of them aren't fond of outsiders, that's all. Most of the men in Little Hangleton never came back from the War, so lots of folks have had to move somewhere else. I know Dewey Barkle's wife had to move in with the Medlin family, and some damn wealthy Southerner rented her old house as a vacation home. Mrs. Barkle grew up there, raised her children there, and now she's got to watch it collect dust and decay... Some folks will welcome you, but if others catch wind that you've sold to the Riddle family..."
Arlene had a sudden mental image of arriving at Little Hangleton to be met with burning pitchforks.
That still remained infinitely more appealing than one more luncheon with Grandma Gorgon.
"I see," Arlene mused, mulling over that information. She didn't doubt Geraldine's assessment, but she felt that given enough time, she could win over a few residents of Little Hangleton. Eustace had given her two pieces of advice: attend Church and ask about people's relatives. With these two items in mind, she was sure to win at least one friend. "Thank you for warning me. Do you have any advice?" She was eager for some elderly wisdom.
"Run," Agnes dead panned.
Geraldine scowled at Agnes and looked at Arlene reassuringly. "Folks up here can be hard to get to know, but just be patient and you'll find your way. If anyone gives you any trouble, you come straight to me and I'll give them a piece of my mind. Nobody should be cruel to a nice girl like you."
"Nobody!" Agnes agreed wholeheartedly. Arlene felt especially warmed by Agnes's support considering she had nearly just killed her a moment ago. "Now, I don't know much about Little Hangleton, but I'll tell you what I know..."
Despite the ladies' claim that they 'didn't know much' about Little Hangleton, their scarcity of knowledge managed to fill the next few hours. Arlene hadn't so much as glanced at the village of Little Hangleton but she felt like she had a pretty good picture of it. It was a quaint little village with twelve or thirteen families who had lived there a long time, all of them farmers and all of them quite spread out. During the War more people filtered into the north and set up something of a market square around Little Hangleton's pub, and cottage hospital. There was a new bakery - which Arlene was not to spend any money on, if she wanted the rest of the village to hold any degree of respect for her - and a butcher, who had been more readily accepted because the man who started it had relatives in the area. There was also a new post office put there at the bequest of the Riddle family, who were rumored to avoid even Greater Hangleton these days.
"Greater Hangleton?" Arlene questioned. She hadn't realized there were two Hangletons.
"Great Hangleton's the Christian name," Maude said, "but it's greater than Little Hangleton, so everyone calls it Greater Hangleton. You'll pass through it on the way to Little Hangleton, I expect, if old Jennings still knows his way outside the village."
At the mention of Jennings, Arlene checked the clock. It was very nearly noon, and Mr. Jennings had sounded so excited to meet her over the telephone that she very much doubted he would be late. She felt sorry to have to leave Geraldine, Agnes, and Maude's company. After a few hours of talking, she had grown very fond of them, and she was certain she saw a return visit in her future
When she announced she ought to leave, the three went straight to work: Maude started packing a basket of pastries for her, ignoring the young woman's protests that this was far too much and Maude was simply too generous, Geraldine went next door to fetch someone to carry Arlene's things, (again: quite unnecessary, as she had managed to carry them fine so far), and while both these things were happening Agnes wrote down her address, Maude's address, Geraldine's address, and an additional fourth address simply labeled 'Lenoirs.'
She was a bit flustered by the time Geraldine returned with the same handsome young man from before. He picked up Arlene's luggage without complaint and met her sheepish expression with a knowing look. "They've adopted you as well, haven't they?" he whispered to her as they left the house.
Arlene glanced behind her to see the three old women smiling and waving at her, positively radiating with happiness. She waved back with a warm smile.
"I suppose so," she chuckled, then glanced down at the list of addresses again. "I take it you're one of these Lenoirs?"
"The original one, if you will," the man said with a twinkle in his eye. He held out his hand for her to shake. "I'm Mars, Mars Lenoir. My wife and I live right over there," he pointed to a lovely and quite roomy three-story cottage beside Maude's home. "If you're ever wanting for pastries, between Maude and my wife Rachel, you'll be set for life."
Arlene would certainly take Mars up on that offer. She'd only just met the three old ladies, but she already felt more at home than she had in years. She smiled at Mars and released his hand. "I'm Arlene Merle. I just moved here from—"
"Islington," he answered for her. She arched an eyebrow at him, and he grinned sheepishly. "Er— so I may not have gone right back to work after getting a drink. Can you blame me? It's hotter than blazin' hell outside, no weather for chasing sheep around, that's for certain."
She supposed she couldn't begrudge him for eavesdropping, if chasing sheep around was his only alternative. Besides, it saved her the pain of re-explaining everything.
"Is Little Hangleton really that bad?" she couldn't help but ask as they made their way — slowly, due to Arlene's stumbling along the cobblestone — back down the road to the train station where Mr. Jennings was supposed to meet her. She already saw him up ahead, a stringy sort of fellow, looking older than he probably was due to either stress or nerves, possibly a mixture of both.
Mars waved a hand at her as if to dismiss the notion entirely. "No, don't let those old bats wind you up. Folks are a bit... unfriendly, one could say, but they only have to warm up to you, that's all. As long as you're not a Riddle, I'd say you'll get on with them just fine."
Again with the Riddles... Arlene was beginning to regret her decision to sell to them, if it would earn her the village's ire. But Jennings was right up ahead, and it would be foolish not to follow through on Old Eustace's wishes just because a couple families had a grudge against the squire and his family.
As she drew nearer to Jennings, Mars rounded the wagon to load her luggage on for her. Jennings greeted Arlene very enthusiastically, shaking her hand so hard she thought it might fall out of its socket.
"Ah, Miss Merle! I'm delighted to meet you at last!" Jennings's smile was genuine but was tight with hardly restrained anxiety. "I had, ahaha, I had almost thought you weren't coming after all. How wonderful I am to be mistaken! Yes, thank you, yes— er, let's go, shall we? We can take care of all the paperwork at my office in Greater, er, Great Hangleton, and of course your rent has already been sorted out, yes, Mr. Riddle is so pleased you've decided to sell to us, we've been looking at that cottage for ages and ages— you do still want to live there, don't you?"
She struggled to keep up with his rapid-fire sentences, but she stumbled her way into understanding. She gave him a strained smile as she extracted her hand, which he had yet to stop shaking, from his. "That has been my intention. So... er, shall we?"
"Oh! Yes, yes, we shall! Let's — agh!" Jennings's foot slipped as he tried to climb into the driver's seat of the wagon, and he very nearly fell in a patch of mud if not for Mars catching him by the arm. In one swift motion, he lifted Jennings onto the step and helped right him again. Jennings went red, Arlene tried to hide a giggle. She rather liked this nervous man. "Ah, thank you, Marius! Thank you."
"Just Mars," Mars said with a hint of exasperation.
"Mars, Mars, yes. Well, you can't blame me, I've known you as Marius since you were only a boy." Arlene climbed into the seat beside Jennings with much more success than he had. He turned to her with a gleeful look. "So— to Little Hangleton!"
"Yes," Arlene answered, her eyes roaming the road in front of them. She wondered dimly what might lay ahead. Inexplicably, she felt a pit begin to grow in the bit of her stomach, which was all of a sudden turning with nerves. "To Little Hangleton..."
It ought to be fine, she scolded herself.
Really, how much trouble could a little village in Yorkshire possibly stir up?
Rewrite is up! Those who've read the original draft, I may delete it off my profile on FF,net but it will remain posted on Wattpad.