Historical Fictionistas discussion

I have had this idea for a new game for us all. I don't know how it will go or if it will be as addictive as I sense it could be.

Let me explain.

I'll start a paragraph of a made up story (made up off the top of my head) and I'll finish it with a half sentence.
The next person has to finish that sentence and write another paragraph. You must finish with a half sentence. (You'll understand once I have started I promise).

Try to stick with just a paragraph and try and keep it historical fiction.
I will start the story and then write the first post afterwards so you can all see what I mean.
Okay, here goes nothing. Gulp...

And don't worry if you think you are a terrible writer. This is not about writing skill, it is about vivid imagination and seeing where the story will go and what adventures the characters will have.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elsie was washing her hands in the bucket of water by the back door when she heard them come in. The smooth, warmth of Mr O'Neal's voice and the deep, resonant boom of her father's laughter.
They had not been expecting Mr O'Neal to return from the market with her father, and Elsie blushed a little as she wiped her wet hands down her skirts.
With a smile, she ducked under the witch hazel arbour covered in newly sprung white clematis and hurried through the kitchen, passing an anxious Charlotte as she went.
Elsie drew up outside the door of the drawing room, sucked in a shallow, unsteady breath, straightened her skirts and entered.
Her father turned and saw her first. "Elsie, my dear." his grin was broad as he welcomed her into the room.
Elsie looked from her father to the tall form lingering at her father's shoulder. "Mr O'Neal, we were not expecting you." She blushed again and was caught immediately off guard as her eyes continued across the room. By the fire sat a......

....woman and child. They were dirty. Unkempt. The smell of their unwashed clothes and skin lingering enough in the room as to be sickly pervasive.
Elsie frowned and wondered who they were and why father would bring such desperately despairing creatures into their drawing room, into their house.
Elsie's father saw her hesitance. "Elsie, do not stare. This is the widow Braithwaite and her child Constance, we came upon them by the river where they....."

homeless in the forest for weeks. They were scrounging for nuts and berries. No human being should live in those conditions. We can give the girl advantages that she hasn't had before. Elise please....

(you really should give people more time to respond)

.....help them get washed up and have Charlotte fix them some bowls of soup. They'll be joining us for supper."

He then turned to Mr. O'Neal as his daughter moved to comply. "Care for a sifter of brandy, Virgil?"

Elsie reached for the child's hand, trying not to look at Mr. O'Neal as the man joined her father for a drink. "Come with me, sweetheart. We'll get you good and washed up before supper." She smiled at the widow as Constance stepped forward tentatively.

"Mama's comin' too?" Constance asked as she looked up to Elsie, then back to the widow. "She has a....

....bad leg. It's bin hurtin' and she needs me to help her walk."
"A bad leg?" Elsie glanced back at the widow Braithwaite and watched the woman struggle to gain her feet. "Father." Elsie snapped, "you did not think to see the woman tended? You bring her here to feed her, but leave her sitting there in pain?"
It was Mr O'Neal who replied as he wrapped long, slender fingers around the neck of the brandy bottle. "We sent your brother Edward for the doctor, Elsie, do not fret. Doctor Farnsworth will be coming by shortly I am sure."
"Yes, girl" her father chimed in, "help Mrs Braithwaite upstairs. I will call up when Farnsworth arrives." he turned away, extended his glass to Mr O'Neal and then, reaching into his pocket, retreaved an envelope. "Oh, and where is that sister of yours? I have a letter here for Charlotte from Lady Peters. It appears her daughters English tutor took a turn and fell on her..."

hip. She slipped and twisted her ankle as well, poor girl. She ought to be more careful. She is an excellent tutor but can't see too well, you know." Elise nodded without a word. She took the envelope and lead the widow in her daughter....

....to get scrubbed up and presentable. While she was peeling layers of grime off the child Elise noticed how striking this girl is. She decided she was going to take upon herself to make her into a lady and find her a respectable beau. When the time was right, of course. A knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. The widow sank into the corner suprised at the interruption. Elise tried to calm the woman down when the knock boomed louder. Elise reached....


(This is so much fun!)

for the door to open it. There stood her father. "I uh...how is it coming?"

"Just fine father. I think they will be okay as soon as they have a good meal in them."

"Very good," her father felt strangely uncomfortable in this situation. "Well carry on, dinner will be in an hour." He walked...

....back into the hall, sidestepping as Mr Whiskers the cat shot passed in hot pursuit of a mouse.
A few moments later Charlotte, Elsie's eldest sister, walked into the room waving the letter she had received from Lady Peter's, in the air. "Can you believe my luck?" she chortled and plonked onto the bed in a billowing cloud of taffeta.
"Luck?" Elsie inquired without looking up as she dragged a comb through Constance's hair.
"Lady Peter's! She has asked me up to the big house. I am to tutor the twins now that their English tutor has up and done herself an injury. Ohh," she lay on her back and looked at the letter in her hand again, ignoring the other two people in the room, "do you think I'll see....."

Morgan?" She let out a long sigh and even started fanning herself with the letter.

Elsie giggled. "I doubt that, Charlotte. Young Mr. Peters is off to University still. Unless you're there when he comes home on holiday."

Charlotte rolled over, perking up at that. "Yes! Of course. Morgan will be home for Christmas, surely." It was then that she noticed the little girl. "Who's the urchin? Does Father know you're bringing in begger children?"

The widow huffed and stood, grimacing at the pain in her gimpy ankle. "She is not a begger, my good woman."

"Who in the name of Satan's bollocks are you?" Charlotte asked.

"Charlotte!" Elsie gasped. "Watch your language! That's no way to...

talk to people like that. Act your class, you wouldn't want to give the wrong impression. Father, brought them here, he knows. You really ought to practice patience if you...

....plan on spending time in the company of the Peter's. And what would Morgan think of such a tongue. I am sure he would not think highly of you."
Charlotte huffed and glared at the widow. "My tongue aside, you still have not answered me. Who are they?"
Elsie helped the limping widow back to her seat. "This is Mrs Braithwaite,a dn the child is Constance. I do not know much more about them." She frowned down at the widow. "Father found you by the river?"
Mrs Braithwaite nodded glumly. "He was kind enough to offer us food and lodging. And a job."
"A job?" Charlotte scooted off the bed and crossed the room. "Since when does father take in charity cases?"
"We are no charity case, Miss Charlotte, we will work for our board."
Charlotte tucked Mrs Peter's letter into her skirt pocket and moved to leave. "All the same. It is charity." She coolly considered the young girl. "She is pretty, had you noticed? You should give her one of Madeleine's dresses. She won't be needing them until she returns from boarding school. Not her good one's mind you."
Mrs Braithwaite smiled her appreciation as Charlotte left the room.
"Your family is being very kind to us, Miss Elsie."
Elsie returned her smile with a weak one. "How did you end up by the river in the state that you are in? Were you living there? Do you have no family? Nowhere to go?"
Mrs Braithwaite fidgeted with her sleeve. "We were living there, yes. In the hermit grotto."
"The hermit grotto? Goodness! For how long?"
"A week or two. I lost count. We came from...

the village of Abbotsbury after my husband passed on, bless his soul, but he left everything to the Church, even our home. I was told we'd be taken care of, but there was nowhere to go, so we left, hoping to make a fresh start..." the widow's voice trailed off. She was looking down at her hands clasped loosely in her lap.
Constance piped in, "My Papa was a vicar, we know how to read and write, and Mama embroiders and plays pianoforte too. She's-"
"Constance! Hush your chatter now child!" Mrs. Brathwaite broke in sharply, startling Elsie. "You don't want to bore our hostess."
"Oh no, the child is not bothering me Mrs. Brathwaite. So what happened, how came you to be in our village, and living in such squalid conditions?"
"A man we met on the road said there was a lord who just bought a new estate, and was looking for a full staff. But then, the accident," she covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking just the tiniest bit. "It was evening, we were looking for a place to rest for the night, having been walking all day, when we came around a bend in the road and-------

an empty cart blocked our way. By moonlight we could only see a what appeared to be a terribly thin face with the coat's collar meeting bony cheeks and a shabby cap obscuring the man's eyes. He croaked an order to the nearly skeletal donkey. "Move, boy. Hear me, move." " I stepped to the roadside as best as I could with the child clutching my skirt and nearly fell on the stones. The driver gave a sharp snap with his stick and they were off. I heard him say-----