An Observer of Nature
The birth of a novel
You are today witnessing the birth of a novel.
See, it is like this. I wrote this story in January, 2023, as an exercise. The genre, historical romance (I don’t know what the heck these things are even called), is on the outskirts of my comfort zone and that’s why I forced myself to give it a try, here on Substack.
It was an assignment I gave myself. The assignment was to see how many insults I could fit into this story. I took inspiration from classic movies and novels. I love snappy dialogue and witty insults — so I attempted to mimic that vibe. The characters ended up smoking and drinking quite a lot! And — you’ll see how it ends when you read it.
But the novel? The birth of the novel? I live with the harshest (most honest?) literary critic I know. This also happens to be my husband. Don’t get me wrong, he is a wonderful husband and we love each other dearly. One of his many amazing skills and talents is to analyze and edit texts. He is a fantastic writer and thinker. He can be merciless in a good way. There are no fake compliments if things aren’t good. He will point out weak details and superfluous rants in texts, and nudge you to streamline and get to the point. The characters and story have to be clear and crisp. There has to be growth.
An Observer of Nature was the first story, of all that I have posted here on Substack, that he said was good. “You should write a novel,” he told me. And since January 2023 he has nudged me to begin that novel.
At first I didn’t see it. The inspiration level was zero. To tackle such a complicated beast of a story — blergh. It was not a science fiction story. But, little by little, the idea grew on me. I reread the story several times, and have to admit I like those pesky characters! They’re fun to hang out with. I began to outline their stories further and they’re about to experience the adventure of their lifetime! I can see it now.
And now, in July 2024, I will begin writing the novel. And I want you to join me!
Here’s the plan:
I will be publishing my chapter drafts here on Substack. Paid subscribers will have access to this exciting inside look into the process of writing a novel.
You are welcome to share ideas and suggestions about how you would like to see the story develop. Especially things that you really like or really don’t like.
OK — so here is where it begins… read on.
Clara hates this living room more each day. Two weeks in London is like two years in Virginia. She can’t wait to go back home. Her half-sister gossips and plays cards with her giggling friend. It is Sunday morning and everyone suffers from a collective hangover.
Clara pretends to read a book and then flicks a bookmark between some random pages.
Catherine looks up.
"And where are you going?"
"Need some fresh air. Going for a walk."
"You run around so much that you'll soon develop hoofs or a reputation of a..."
"Nice seeing you again Irene," Clara interrupts, grabs her coat and leaves.
Henry Campbell walks up the steps as Clara walks down.
"Clara West! My favourite Allingham spawn! Where to? Did Catherine get out of bed yet?"
"Henry, back so soon? Didn't hear you leave this morning."
Henry reveals a dry smile and twirls his moustache.
"And where are your wool coat and you heading? Spinster tea at noon?"
Clara puts on her gloves and gives Henry a defiant look. He casually blocks her from moving further down.
"Is Irene up there too?" Henry asks and glances upward.
"Move aside please. I don't have time for your paraplegic jokes!"
"Can I join you if they bore me?" Henry asks as he lowers his arm to let her pass.
"And spread your varmint attitude on me? Whatever you like, Henry, if you can find me."
Clara hails a cab.
She ends up having coffee and a bourbon at a rundown and half-empty bar. She puts out her last cigarette, grabs her coat and heads for the door when Henry walks in, wet from a midday shower. Clara freezes in place as Henry walks up to her.
"Well, well! You certainly know how to pick out a good excursion! How in the blasted hell did you find this mouldy stew?" Henry looks around in disgust.
"I thought of a place where no one I know would ever want to enter," Clara responds and stares out the glass at the rain outside. Henry continues to scrutinize the establishment.
"Well, we might as well disinfect our palates while we wait for a break in the rain." Henry pulls Clara back toward the bar.
"What did you do, follow me?" Clara makes a grimace as she washes down the shot of vodka Henry offers her.
Henry watches her empty shot glass for a moment and then lifts his eyes to observe her face. A faint sign of surprise emerges.
"As a matter of fact, yes. I didn't bother going up to see Cath and Irene. You know how, well, forceful they get when they're together on Sundays."
Clara gives him a blank stare. Henry looks for another way to explain himself.
"It looked like it was going to rain, and I had to run an errand anyways, and Irene gave me quite a row last night and quite frankly my constitution wasn't ready for a viewing of her red mane so early in the day!"
"Henry! You're showing your Achilles heel! How many shots did you have from your flask on your way here?" Clara smiles and is in control.
Henry absentmindedly touches the inside pocket of his coat. He lights a cigarette, and then offers Clara one.
"So Irene is the problem?" Clara asks without looking at Henry.
"You left the apartment for a reason too, right?"
Clara chuckles and nods.
"I thought you were a bit more invested, shall we say, in the upkeep of an agreeable friendship with Cath?"
Henry wrinkles his nose and looks toward the drenched windows.
"As I said, rain coming down and all. Had to run some errands and all. Cheers!" They absentmindedly click glasses without looking at each other.
"Right. You're so convincing Henry."
"I must say the choice of establishment was highly unexpected. I'd thought you'd choose something more refined? Like a church or something."
Clara laughs but keeps face turned away.
"As I said before, I hoped to avoid people I know."
"Clara, you shock me!"
"Well, cheers to you too, I've finally accomplished something!"
"What has it been, six months since John died? Drinking on Sundays, in an Eastside rundown bar? Your beloved Papa Allingham would have sent you back to Virginia a dozen times over!"
"Listen to you, Mr. Proper! You've had a chance to air your grievance. Now move on." Clara demonstrates for him to leave with a flick of her gloved hand. She gains eye-contact with the bar-keeper and orders another drink. Henry doesn't move.
The bar-keeper hands her another drink, which she promptly downs and slams loudly back on the counter. Then she stands up, wipes a droplet from her mouth, picks up her purse and walks toward the door. Clara is thoroughly drenched before she is able to hail a cab. Henry doesn’t follow her.
Back at the apartment Catherine has moved on to a silk robe and Irene has vanished. Catherine pretends to read a book while holding a large martini in her lap.
"So, was the homily uplifting, depressing, or both?" Catherine asks without looking up.
Clara stops, and small droplets from her coat are soaked up by the thick rug. She thinks and responds, while she takes off her gloves:
"Eye opening." Catherine glances up for a second and yells:
"My God, look at you! Betty! Please take care of this immediately!" Betty, the housekeeper, arrives, and Catherine doesn't have to give any further instructions.
Supper begins in silence. The rain has not let up and she lets out a sigh. When will her life finally begin? Her real life. Not this theatre show.
"Irene told me that Henry spilled the beans on you, dear." Catherine doesn't look up from her soup, but she is clearly in a catty mood.
"Henry's an alcoholic," Clara casually suggests, and waits for a reaction. She has to wait a good ten seconds. Catherine drops her spoon.
"Oh! How dare you? Henry! An alcoholic? What garbage!"
Clara is not the least worried about the gossip Henry apparently has spread about her. Catherine takes a new aim.
"Eastside! On a Sunday? Clara, you must think of our family! Thank God Henry noticed you were a bit unsteady as you left, yes Clara, we noticed your drinking the night before, and he said to Irene he better go after you and make sure you were alright. And so, he said, he took the next cab and had it follow you. He said you refused to speak to him and then you left so quickly you spilled a drink on his new coat!"
Clara chuckles.
"I thought Henry and Irene didn't get along that well..."
This seems to agree with Catherine's mood and she smirks and nods.
"I guess it is apparent, isn't it? It is almost as if he's jealous of her? You know? I mean I do love to spend time with him, alone, but Irene is my dearest, dearest friend and Henry can be so bor..." she catches herself. She can't be that honest with Clara. But they both know.
Clara pours herself a cup of coffee. Catherine gathers herself.
"Our lawyer called earlier this morning. He will meet with our family next month to arrange the papers. Of the properties and such, you know."
So, another month. Clara feels a prickling sensation of impatience flush through her body.
"Any idea why it is taking so long? It shouldn't be that complicated."
Catherine shakes her head.
"Perhaps it has something to do with father owning properties both here and in the States?"
"That is possible," Clara answers.
This is the most pleasant discussion they have had in a long time. They are both eager to see this communal life come to a brisk end so they both finally can begin living. Separately of course.
"Irene has asked me to go with her to Bath. I'll be leaving this afternoon. Sorry for the short notice."
Clara is surprised but not upset. She'll have the entire house to herself.
"I'll be back within a week. I'll call! Don't do anything stupid. Oh, and please don't tell Henry where I've gone! I don't want him to come running after me like a wet poodle! Tata!" Catherine and her fur coat vanish into the waiting cab. The house feels lighter.
To celebrate the sudden freedom Clara goes up to her room and picks out one of her nicest evening dresses, sets her hair in a marvellous knot, and takes the first cab to a very expensive restaurant.
She makes sure she walks in with her own stole thrown over her shoulder, and the maitre d' sees her as something worthy of a good table so he whisks her to the front near the side so she can have a good view of the location.
She orders a bottle of champagne to get over the worry of wearing a low cut silk dress, and the moment she leans back and lights a cigarette she locks eyes with Henry.
He sits opposite a blonde woman who is dressed in a dark red evening gown which is only a straw more scandalous than Clara's own creation. Clara sees his shocked expression and how he tries to tame it by swallowing too much whiskey. His lady friend doesn't notice.
Clara raises her glass as a nod to him, and he puffs a cloud of smoke as an answer. They both smile.
Clara isn't hungry but picks at the food she has ordered. And waits for Henry.
Eventually he comes over, and doesn't even ask if he can sit down.
"So I hear the ladies are hiding out in Bath. Why not Paris?"
"It's perhaps not an entirely shocking choice as Cath cannot afford anything fancier at this point." Clara sips a bit more champagne and waits.
"And the American attic-spinster goes out to throw away some cash while the Cath is out of the house."
"Henry, are you the jealous type?"
"Certainly! Heavens, woman! Who do you take me for?" Henry mocks outrage.
"Are you going to ask Cath to marry you once she gets the inheritance straightened out?" She glances over the rim of the glass and sees she hit a good target. Finally!
"Well, your cleavage isn't the only thing that is sharp tonight! What, marry Cath? Who knows what I will do a week from now? Cigarette?"
She can tell he is a bit shaky now.
"Don't you come from a financially secure family yourself?"
Henry looks like he has indigestion, or at least a little bit of pain. He strokes his chest and right then his table friend walks up and puts a hand on his shoulder.
"Henry darling, please introduce me. I want to know all your friends!" Clara keeps her eyes on Henry and knows that she won this round. Her first true victory. Her life force is beginning to return and it feels good.
"Miss West, this is Henrietta Hilton." Clara exchanges a pleasant nod with the lady. No reason to make any enemies. Her game with Henry is just a game. But she knows she has made a noticeable dent in his veneer tonight.
"Henrietta, I insist we dance the next song - now run off and get ready before I sweep the floor with your dress!" Henry shoos her off in a giggle, and immediately turns toward Clara:
"Clara, what are you doing before breakfast tomorrow?"
"What, are you going to challenge me to a duel?"
Henry smiles.
"I have a sudden urge to take a walk in the country with you."
"Why, that is the nicest thing you have said to me, I think, ever," Clara says.
"Provided that you wear that same dress."
"Fine, as long as you wear your current clothing."
"Fair enough. I shall send a cab at six in the morning. Bring a few of those Madeira bottles. Cath will never notice." Henry blows one last puff of smoke directly at her décolletage and stands up and leaves.
Clara sighs, orders the check, and tells the maitre d' that Mr. Campbell generously insisted on paying for tonight's dinner. She throws the stole back on the shoulder and walks out with strong focus because her world is shaking a bit due to the champagne.
Clara steps into the cab and it is exactly six in the morning. The fog hasn't lifted and London is magical. Henry clasps his head with both hands but smiles and nods as she has kept her promise. She does, however, wear sturdier shoes but he doesn't notice.
"Henrietta kept you up too late?" she asks as she plucks off her gloves.
"Henrietta who? Oh, yes, the Hilton secondary minx. Always."
"Well, a healthy walk in the country will freshen you up."
"I have a feeling it will. Now will you shut up and let me sleep?" Henry turns toward the window, drops his hat over his eyes and falls silent.
Clara is wide awake, and the morning after headache isn't even there to bother her. This is too clear a morning in her head. Why can't it be more foggy? Why am I here with Henry Campbell? In my best silk evening gown?
They drive north and the sun begins to make itself known.
Clara looks out the cab window and muses. Her fur coat (stole would have been too cold) is warm, she accepts her clear thoughts, and the landscape is beautiful.
"You will pay for breakfast, evil witch!" Henry is awake.
"And good morning to you too, Henry. If you are referring to last night's dinner, I thought it would have been totally inappropriate for me to pay since you sat at my table for so long! I mean, what would people have thought?"
Henry shuffles around and finds his cigarettes, and Clara rolls down her window.
"What, witch, are you trying to kill me physically as well as mentally? Close the damned window! I’ve just recovered from a cold!"
Clara muses some more and rolls the window up just a little bit.
They stop south of Oxford and eat breakfast at a small inn. The owners give them a long stare but Londoners nowadays have an odd sense of fashion so who are they to tell what is right or wrong. Clara's dust-green dress is well set off by the dark fur coat and Henry manages to look fairly sharp in a slightly withered evening suit. They are the only ones in the establishment as it is Tuesday morning and it is already drizzling outside.
They borrow two umbrellas from the innkeepers and begin their countryside walk.
"Is this a habit of yours?" Clara asks.
"Haven't been out here for quite some time. You reminded me of an autumn field, you know, dead grass and that musty smell of fallen leaves, and I thought; we must walk here, you in that spectacular dress and I as an observer of nature."
"Henry, how old are you?"
Henry stops and looks at Clara. First time today.
"I don't casually give out quantitative data, what is it of importance to you?"
"It will tell me something about you, because you are a mystery to me." Clara decides to take a new approach.
"I shall be 34 next month. Mystery solved?" He looks out over the field to avoid her look.
"Not quite. Why did you drag me out here? We barely know each other."
"You're not supposed to say such things! This is an excursion! We can't have this kind of questioning here! I respond to you instead with a why not! Why not come out here, to nature, and walk about? What better place to get to know another person than out in the open wild? What do you have to go and question this for? This is, in my humble opinion, the most brilliant idea I've conjured up in a week! You, a perfect individual to drag along, because hell, who knows how to classify you! First, when I met you, all you did was sit under a storm cloud and utter one word sentences. Then, you stopped doing your hair..."
Clara lets out a laugh, he is correct!
"... and one day you walked around in a robe all day, with me in the house! And then the drinking, and rude behaviour. Well, I am sure getting you outdoors in this majestic landscape will set all the wrong cogs back in the garbage can so to speak."
Clara smiles.
"I think you will always be dear to me, Henry," she says and kicks a rock. "Despite being no famous mind reader, you do notice things, and I have been a vile person since my father passed away. Living with Cath – and Irene, as it has become, is not easy on one's nerves. Sparring with you has made my life a bit more enjoyable. Whether you like me or not really doesn't matter. But I find you fully insane and I think it suits you!"
Henry kicks the same rock.
"Oh, I am sound both in mind and body. I just treat life the way many daren't, and I'm still young and have time to go back to the boring old ways if this doesn't work out."
"Is that why your family is on the brink of kicking you out?" Clara takes a wild guess.
"Yes."
"What would they like to see happen to you?"
"I am about seven years too late for that, and the subject is already a widow with very large estates both here and in France."
"Marrying Cath will not bring forth any estates beyond the small properties you have already seen."
"I know, I don't count on my family anymore and they don't count on me."
"Don't you have a house near here?" she asks.
"Yes, I've let it out for the summer. In a few weeks I have to go inspect it for the autumn and winter. Nice place. Cath would hate it."
Clara feels a genuine empathy for Henry. Catherine will never love him, and who knows what woman will. Henry has all the external features of ultimate masculinity, matched with some bitter notes of anger and a few dashes of madness. Catherine has no patience for men who don't obey.
"I think you need to rid yourself of any notion that Cath would ever marry you, or you her." Clara waits and cringes internally.
"That coffee really found its pit in you. I never criticise any of your suitors. Oh wait, you haven't had any here, and I doubt any back in Boston either."
"You are wrong but it doesn't matter. What does matter is this; I always tell you my honest opinion, and frankly you are wasting more than seven years. Cath will find a wealthy old man soon, and all you will be good for is a fourth at the card table."
Henry grabs her arm and stops her.
"If you were not so devilishly alluring I would strike you and leave you in that ditch!"
"Did you think I would lie to you, and tell you Cath would make a wonderful wife for you? You call me witch and worse, fine, but do you truly find her behaviour attractive? Do you connect her behaviour with love? What a distorted way to look at love and marriage – and a woman for that matter! Haven’t you ever wanted to begin living, honestly?"
"Don't get all philosophical with me, witch!" He takes her arm, taps it lightly, and hooks it with his. They continue walking. She glances up at his profile and notices his moustache is gone!
"Oh God, you even shaved your moustache! Cath hates your moustache!"
"Want to hear the reason? I burned myself last night lighting a blasted cigarette. Half the moustache went poof!"
Together they laugh out loud, look around, and realise they’re lost in the middle of a field of sheep.
Stay with me and follow along as I turn this story into a novel!
This story was originally my submission to the STSC Symposium, a monthly set-theme collaboration between STSC writers. The topic was “Beginnings”.
Thank you for reading! Press the heart button and write a comment!
Please consider dropping a few bucks in the Venmo below.
Also check out No End Code, my first sci-fi anthology. Now in paperback and at a discounted price!
Thank you to all new subscribers! I am thrilled and grateful that you choose to spend your time here in the Cabinet of Curiosities! Obviously you have a refined taste in your Substack choices, and you belong here. This place is growing and I’m glad you've joined me on this cockeyed caravan! Here you can read more about me.
What can you do to support me? Well, since you asked, you can buy Errante and No End Code, my sci-fi anthologies and leave a review on Amazon and Goodreads. You can also subscribe to this newsletter and spread the word. Link to your own creations in the comments so we can support your works! Or point your camera to the QR code below and buy me a coffee! Oh, and press the heart button and leave a comment!
I enjoyed this, and the charge of the phrasing, including, "I just treat life the way many daren't, and I'm still young and have time to go back to the boring old ways if this doesn't work out."
Oh what a delightful read and perfect ending! Effortless and timeless - not my normal cup of tea genre-wise but boy oh boy did I enjoy this - well done. You can tell you are a master flirt in the real world.