Now, it takes place in England somewhere from 1850 to 1900. Probably closer to 1850. So, it's sort of historical fiction with a small element of fantasy to be introduced later. So, me being as nit picky as I can with this story, I've also done lots of research to make sure facts are correct and I'm not overlapping too many time periods (no more than two I think... maybe none).
It's still untitled, I'm just calling it "a story of a boy" for now because that's what it is. Haha! But I also have some unnamed characters. Just bear with me through it. I'm very picky when it comes to finding good names I care about. Trust me though, I'm doing my research. Heh.
So enough with this ranting, thank you if you read it though. I hope it stresses the importance of this story to me.
And on we go:
Prologue
Nobody really knew for sure how he got his fortune. He became a very wealthy man through inheritance after a close relative died. But after his wife died, he became a recluse in his own manor.
The grounds were quite amazing back in their day. This was when there were rooms still held for grounds keepers who took care of the great variety of plant life brought in by many world travels. There were beautiful, lush gardens and trees, and the once popular Cricket field for the recently invented English game. There was a gorgeous meandering path also, that lead from the front steps of the house down to the stairs that led to the sandy shoreline. Years and years ago, many guests liked to sneak to the cliff caves and make fools of themselves with the ladies after the old master’s dinner parties. Mister *** did not have dinner parties and nary had the servants to host even one visitor.
Many people were curious about Mister ***. He came out of his home quite often to shop at the market for his own groceries. People speculated, he was only doing this to convince himself that he indeed was not a hermit in his own home, shy of all people. And many people considered he was poor, but the tax collectors could tell them otherwise for he still lived on his own property in his giant manor on a spectacular piece of envied shoreline real estate. Though some thought, it was only because he had no servants to do so for him.
“Well why ever not?” a lady asked at the market in downtown Harte near the docks. “He is wealthy enough to hire twenty! Is he not?”
“Yes, he has quite the little stash in the bank,” the large dumpling-like banker said as he examined a soft fruit. He took a bite out of it, nodded in satisfaction and paid the gap-toothed merchant.
“Why does he isolate himself so then?” she asked her escort who patted her arm.
“I wouldn’t say he is so isolated. He comes out and does his own shopping, no?” the middle-aged man said.
“Yes, but he doesn’t talk to anyone beyond his shopping needs. Am I not right Clarisse?” she asked the hat-maker as they walked up to her small outdoor stand.
“Right you are, miss. I once asked him if he ever had much company and if he had no ladies in the house that needed fitting. I said my daughter could make a very fine dress. He simply said, ‘no, thank you’ and he bought a very fine white sun hat with white flowers sewn upon it,” the old hat maker said.
“Did you try to ask who it was for?” Mrs. Wilson asked wide-eyed at this bit of gossip.
“Of course I did!” old Clarisse exclaimed. “He walked away to his carriage before he could hear the end of my question!”
“Humph,” Mrs. Wilson huffed. “Well, my darling husband, does that prove enough to you now?”
“No, my dear. I dare say, he has received the job as English Professor at the academy,” the man said leading his wife across the street.
“Do you know if he has children, Wilson?” she asked.
“Dr. Addison!” he called to the town doctor who had just walked past them in the opposite direction.
The doctor sped his pace while yelling over his shoulder, “You know I can’t tell you anything Mister Wilson!”
“He’s positively avoiding us!” Mrs. Wilson said delighted. Her husband gave her his hand into the carriage. “You know what this means?” she prodded her husband.
“No,” he said with a teasing twinkle in his eye.
“He does!”
“You and your gossip, my dear. Really, you mustn’t do that.”
The carriage door shut and the coach took off, snapping four brown horses into motion.
As the carriage turned the corner closest to the docks, Mrs. Wilson pointed out the orphanage to her husband, “Look darling! There’s a poor couple dropping off a baby! Can you tell who they are?”
Mister Wilson looked out the carriage window. He saw a man with his hand on a sobbing mother’s shoulder. Her stomach was still large from carrying the child. She obviously did not want to give him up. “No, I can’t. I don’t think they are from here. Not many are.
“Poor boys. One must hate to live his whole life working in the shipyards.”
“Shame,” Mrs. Wilson said.
“Indeed,” Mister Wilson agreed. “Darling?”
“Yes?”
“What would you think of me getting a promotion?”
“Oh, really darling? My, that’d be wonderful!” Mrs. Wilson laughed with delight.
She stopped abruptly, her attention distracted out the window yet again. “Oh look! It’s that man! Professor ***!” Her face was inches away from the window as she pulled back the sashes for an attempt at a better look. Mr. Wilson swept his brow and looked at his lap sighing.
