A Spoof Gothic Historical Romance Episode

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Now for some comic relief. Who’s for a Gothic historical romance, full of anachronisms (which the re-cycled characters know too well).

Scene: A castle in the wilds of Yorkshire, UK, on the moors.  Date – Regency

[ A darkly handsome and brooding man appears  at the bolt studded door holding a modern electric torch. Although it is October and there is a force eight gale blowing, he wears breeches but no shirt.]

Dastardly Duke:    Damn me! Where is the chit? She’s late.

[A footman appears. He, too, is dark and handsome. On seeing him, the Duke starts.]

Dastardly Duke:   Devil take me, not you!

Footman:     It ain’t my fault.  I’ve been demoted from being hero, see, for                  refusing to chase after the heroine after I packed her off,  so  there  wasn’t a Happy Ever After. The punishment was to be a wretched servant. So you’ve been promoted from Dashing Villain to hero? Well, in this story, there ain’t much difference. It’s not fair. I’m better looking than you, too.

Dastardly Duke: I can soon remedy that, you whoreson. I always hated your damned smug face and uneering aim with your flintlocks when you were the Earl of Darlington.  [Makes to seize him, but a sudden flash and jolt makes him drop the torch; the bulb goes out. He lets out a terrible oath] Ouch!

Footman:  [Addressing the sky) Is that the best he can do for foul
language? That’s the punishment for an anachronism in Historical Romances, Your Grace. New rules.

Dastardly Duke:   Go down to the wine cellar and fetch me some strong
liquor, curse you for a miserable, low born rogue.85px-Man's_coat_and_vest_with_metal-thread_embroidery_c._1800

Footman:  We’re out of tallow candles.

Dastardly Duke:  Then you’ll have to go down in the dark, and if you happen to slip in the dark and break your low born neck, what care I!

Footman:   Come to think of it, I don’t care either. The sooner I get to the end of this one, the better. Maybe by the next story, I’ll be allowed to be the Heroine’s Hopeless Admirer or her rakish brother instead of a mere commoner…[Goes off]

Dastardly Duke:  Do I hear horses hooves? Yes, it’s the Heroine
arriving at last. Hmm. I wonder who they’ve sent me? To tell the truth, ha, ha!
I’d like a voluptuous doormat by way of a change from these sharp tongued hoydenish redheads who’re the fashion these days. I haven’t had a Doormat Heroine in years, and that sort was such fun for a sadist like me. [Looks about almost nervously] Well, the term hasn’t been invented when this story’s set, even if old de Sade had been at it,  but I’m talking off camera, or microphone, as it were…And yes, I know they hadn’t been invented either.

[The Ducal carriage appears, accompanied by a roll of distant thunder. The Duke moves, with lithe, almost feline grace down the steps to hand down the heroine when the footman opens the door.]

Spirited Heroine:  Hello, there! Sorry, anachronism. Good morrow, Your Grace. I fear you must have interrupted your toilette, to be gracious enough to greet me, for you wear no shirt.Unless you’ve lost it from your back through desperate gambling.

Dastardly Duke: [ Sourly] No. I’m never gracious. That was just for the cover. Do you think I enjoy standing about half naked in this cursed climate? [Lets out another terrible oath as he takes a closer look at her.] Don’t say it is that awful six foot redhead with the smart repartee? Hell and damnation, it is.

Spirited Heroine:  Well, I can’t say I’m exactly ecstatic to see you, either. No matter; we’ll be falling in love before we are halfway through the book [here they are interrupted by one of the horses speaking before they are taken on to the stables].

Horse:  Can’t I have a foaming jug of ale?

Spirited Heroine  Lud!

Dastardly Duke;  &*^&&^(!!!!!!

Coachman:   He’s been doing that all the way from the coaching
house, Your Grace. It seems he was one of those
abusive heroes with the –ahem – I don’t like to say
in front of the young lady – ‘bruising kisses’ and
worse, back in the 1970’s, and so he’s been paying
his debt to the Romance Society ever since they went
out of fashion.120px-Ds_of_M

Spirited Heroine:  Is that so? [Rushes forward} The swine! Give me that whip!

Dastardly Duke:  [Catches her arm]  No, Miss Er, I can’t allow you to flog a dumb animal.

Horse:  We Alphas must stick together. Anyway, who’s a dumb animal? [Neighs piteously at a sudden flash and jolt] Ow! That hurt! That’s so unkind. Abusers need love, too…[The coachman cracks his whip and sets them off towards the stables].

Dastardly Duke:  Well, shall we get on with it? So, you are the new governess. I hope you won’t find it too lonely in this isolated spot, with only a grim widower for company, and a few retainers.

Spirited Heroine:   [Helping him on with his shirt] Not at all, Your Grace. I like the country. Besides, the handsome renumeration you offer, merely for the coaching of two small daughters …

[More distant thunder]

More Next Week…

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Spoof Sequel to Wuthering Heights; Heathcliff, Huntingdon, and Gambling for Grassdale Manor

wuthering heightsSetting: Wuthering Heights, the dining room . The table is laid for three. Joseph clumps about in his heavy boots, slopping unappetising looking porridge into bowls.

Arthur: Silence, fellow! Last night’s excess has overwrought my steely nerves. I can no more take that appalling din, than I endure to eat any of this filthy slop. Make me some coffee and be quick about it. Milk indeed; are we infants?

Joseph: [only daring to speak to himself under his breath] Are things come to this, that I, fifty years in this house, mun take orders from such a nought? [Aloud] Maister Heathcliff, am I to endure this?

Heathcliff: [even more darkly brooding than usual  this morning] Quiet, or I’ll  kick you out. Make some coffee and I’ll have some too. Be quick about it, or i’ll use your good books to stoke the fire.

Jospeh: Ah, wicked furren ways. Hareton, lad, sup thy milk in blessed innocence.

Hareton: I’ll have some too. [Jospeh goes out, lamenting ]

[Some minutes pass in grim silence]

Hareton,[to Heathcliff Did I hear knocking last night?

Heathcliff: Tha’ did, lad. A lass knocked on the door, and I sent her away into the wind and the rain. You know what I always say: ‘Let the worms writhe, I have no mercy’.

Arthur: [to himself] Just the sort of quip to set the table on a roar; this fellow’s a social lion.

Hareton: Nay, it weren’t right, if it were a lassie.

Arthur: You’re right, young sir. I should have spoken up for the wench, plain-looking though she was, but I was a trifle elevated. Here’s that old Pharisee with the coffee at last

[Enter Joseph] They drank all the wine and brandy I keep for t’good of my health and my old bones last night, and now they’re at my coffee. Sinful. Someone knocks. Mayhap, the devil himself.

Heathcliff; Just so long as its no more trespassers from other novels.

thHareton: If it’s that poor lass Jane Eyre, let her in this time.

Huntingdon: Damn me, I can’t stand this biblical cant over breakfast, when I’ve got to surmount last night’s excesses. My wife was bad enough for that, but at least she had didn’t have a face like that. I’ve seen happier looking ghouls. Young sir, what’s the best way to Wildfell Hall?

Hareton: I’ll put you on your way, Mr Huntingdon.

[Joseph returns] Maister Heathcliff, there’s two boxes of books out there, wi’ fair shocking covers, wi’ wenches a-flaunting their bosoms in indecent low gowns, wi’ their cheeks and lips looking fair painted, and t’wind a blowin’ their skirts above their ankles, and you with your shirt off, and a snarlin’ like our house dogs, and all called ‘Wuthering Heights. T’shame of it! That folks should credit such things go on here!

Hareton [hurries out] I must see this!

Huntingdon: A shame I’ve seen no such fine wenches here. Why anyone would choose to write about this damned sorry place, is beyond me. Now I’ll take my leave. I thank you for your hospitality. I believe I lost tuppence over the cards last night? As a debt of honour, I must pay that. [throws down coin]63daa92b710561d87498049b891eb71b

Heathclif: [hurls his marked cards down on the table in a rage] And I was dreaming of getting my hands on that Grassdale Manor of yours!

Huntingdon: Never mind, at least you have some reading matter more agreeable than ‘Torments in the Pitt (Extended Edition,  with Lurid Illustrations by Hironymous Bosche)’ and ‘One Thousand Reflections for a Sinner’. [Exit]

Hieronymus Bosch - Hell 2

Heathcliff Meets Huntingdon and Jane Eyre: Wuthering Heights Spoof Sequel Part Two

thSetting: Wuthering Heights: Heathcliff and Arthur Huntingdon now sit at the table in the great room with the ‘houseplace’ and the great fire, decidedly the worse for drink. Both clutch a pack of marked cards.

Joseph and Hareton go along the passageway outside, making for the stairs.

Joseph: ‘Tis fair shocking. I’m afeered t’upstart maister is behaving as he did in t’auld days when he strived to take this house from its rightful maister. Worse. For I’ve heard him laugh out loud. A fair sin and a shame I call it. I’m to my bed in t’attic with my bedtime reading: ‘The Hideous Sufferings of the Damned in The Lake of Burning Fire, and How the Elect Chuckle to See It’. That day can’t coom soon enough, I reckon, for t’gentry in there.

Hareton: Well, I’ll not join ‘em; I’ve got a full days’ work tomorrow. I’ll smoke my pipe in bed (starts upstairs; pauses:) Joseph?

Joseph: What, lad?

Hareton: Dust eever think that there might be more to life than this?

Joseph: Why, nay lad; never. What more could theere be?

Hareton: (casts around in his mind) Well…

Joseph: You see; idle nowts of fancies put in thy mind by the fiend himself. Beware! You’ll be thinking o’ nasty flauntin’ queens next.

(They are halfway up the stairs before Hareton suddenly stops) Fun!

Joseph (drawing back) What?!

Hareton: Fun. I vaguely mind me we had some o’ that now and ageen, in t’auld days. wuthering heights

Joseph: Don’t be daft, lad. I’ve never had any fun in night on seventy year, and its never done me any harm.

(Hareton remains silent: Joseph sighs and groans about idle thoughts as they clump up to bed.)

Huntingdon: (aside) This sneaking fellow may well scheme to get his hands on my property with his pack of marked cards, having used that trick before. But he shan’t fool me as he did that pathetic fool, Hindley Earnshaw. I’ve got my own pack of marked cards, and few have a more seasoned head than I.

Heathcliff: (slurring) Don’t tell me you usuhally drink like thish. You musht be a confirmed drunkard. Maybe worshe than Hindley.

Huntingdon: No, I’m a gentleman, and believe in good living. Damn me, d’you usually take your meals with that sour faced old bible spouter? No wonder you’ve got no joie de vivre. If I was you, I’d throw him out, closely followed by his good books.wuthering heights

Heathcliff: She and I did that onshe, wit’ his blashted good booksh, and laughed ourshelves sick. (struck) Can’t remember when lasht I laughed.

Huntingdon (appalled) What type of melancholy excuse for an existence is thish? (aside) This wine is getting even to my seasoned head. I’m starting to slur like him.

(The wind howls eerily about the isolated farmhouse. A tap on the window)63daa92b710561d87498049b891eb71b

Heathcliff: Damn! Whosh there? (Another tap)

Heathcliff: Can it be Her at last?

(A wailing sound)

Huntingdon (uses many maledictions) Seeing you won’t see who it is, I suppose I must. (goes to the window and flings back the curtain) There’s nobody there.

A female voice: Oh yes, there is!

Huntingdon: (peers downwards through the darkness) Damn me, it’s some plain faced woman no bigger than a well grown child. Wait a minute, I’ve heard of you! You’ve lost your way; you belong in another novel.

Jane Ere’s voice: Ah, I have been forced to flee my master, who offered me a bigamous marriage and wicked temptations. But I feel no temptation to stay in the company of either of you. I must go on to the River’s household.

Heathcliff (rushes to the window with terrible imprecations) What d’you mean by raising my hopes, you miserable slut? Get out of it, before I set the dogs on you! You’re the sixth character from another novel come here in a week!

Huntingdon: (returning to the table and removing a couple of cards from his sleeve): Anyway, she isn’t handsome enough to tempt me.

Heathcliff: (visibly paling) Silence! You know who said that! The last thing we want is Mr Darcy calling in!

The credits roll up. Voiceover: What will happen next? Don’t miss the next installment of ‘Huntingdon Meets Heathcliff’.

‘Ravensdale’ Now out on Amazon

 

My new ebook ‘Ravensdale’ – a spoof historical romance –  is now out on amazon on

and on Amazon.co.uk

Goodness, some huge pictures have appeared here where I’ve put the links in. I love the cover Streetlight Graphics did, but…

 

Anyway, it’s out now and I hope readers find it amusing.

I was interested in lampooning a favourite theme of historical novelists – the Wild Young Earl (or heir to an Earldom) is through the machinations of his Conniving Cousin (usually, but other relatives are sometimes used)  is Falsely Accused of Murder and turns Outlaw while Seeking to Clear His Name.

This was great fun to write, but I hope, too, I also made the characters in this stereotypical situation come to life enough to involve the reader.

Reynaud Ravensdale is a cousin of Emile Dubois (Emile, of course, isn’t the Conniving Cousin in question; in fact, he’s still living in disguise himself in Revolutionary France through the period in which this story is set, 1792) and Emile makes a guest appearance as a youngster in this story, with later butler and housekeeper, the rascally Mr and Mrs Kit, playing bigger roles in the story.

Here’s the blurb: –

When the group of highwaymen headed by the disgraced Earl of Little Dean, Reynaud Ravensdale holds up the hoydenish Isabella Murray’s coach, she knocks one of them down and lectures them all on following Robin Hood’s example.

The rascally Reynaud Ravensdale – otherwise known as the dashing highwayman Mr Fox – is fascinated at her spirit.

He escaped abroad three years back following his supposedly shooting a friend dead after a quarrel. Rumour has it that his far more respectable cousin was involved. Now, having come back during his father’s last illness, the young Earl is seeking to clear his name.

Isabella’s ambitious parents are eager to marry her off to Reynaud Ravensdale’s cousin, the next in line to his title. The totally unromantic Isabella is even ready to elope with her outlaw admirer to escape this fate – on condition that he teaches her how to be a highwaywoman herself.

This hilarious spoof uses vivid characters and lively comedy to bring new life to a theme traditionally favoured by historical novelists – that of the wild young Earl, who, falsely accused of murder by the machinations of a conniving cousin and prejudged by his reputation, lives as an outlaw whilst seeking to clear his name.

‘Ravensdale’ is a fast paced, funny and romantic read from the writer of ‘That Scoundrel Émile Dubois’ and ‘Aleks Sager’s Daemon’.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blog Hop

bloghopimage
Jenn Roseton – who does well written and highly sensual romance –
http://jennroseton.blogspot.com.au/2013/12/blog-hop.html?zx=79acb5912b5019d9
– was kind enough to make me one of her blog hopper’s, so I have some questions to answer.

1. What are you working on now?

My temper? Reforming into a worshipper of the status quo? After all, followers of this blog will know that my last reading matter was a sentimental Victorian novel about a reformed rebel.

That apart, as I have said a few times, I’ve been working on a spoof historical romance (and I didn’t type ‘hysterical’ that time) on the tired theme of Disgraced Earl turns Brigand due to the machinations of a Conniving Cousin and Rival in Love, and hence my reading sentimental Victorian novels (looks about guiltily, gnawing nails), as I remembered that as a perfect example of a melodrama on that theme.

‘Ravensdale’, then, which I’ve just sent off to my writing partner – the wonderful and overworked Jo Danilo- is a comedy set during the French Revolution, in 1792, just two years before ‘That Scoundrel Emile Dubois’ and is in fact about Reynaud Ravensdale, Emile Dubois’ cousin and childhood companion in delinquency.
Wrongly accused of killing one of his best friends, he becomes a smuggler and later, a highwayman (as Emile later does). Returning to the country to see his debauched father in his last illness, he runs into the strapping, hoydenish Isabella Murray, the one young women in the district who doesn’t find him a romantic figure. Becoming fixated with her, he goes in a ludicrous disguise of fussy wig and glasses to apply for a post as librarian in her house, where he can feel bliss by ‘gazing upon your face’.

Meanwhile, her social climbing parents are anxious to marry him off to his cousin (naturally) and he is eager to rescue her from such a fate.

But Isabella doesn’t want to be rescued by any man; she wants to be a Gentlewoman of the Road…

2. How’s it different from other work in the genre?

I’d say through the ironical treatment of the theme, through revelling in the use of cliche. I hope, as ever, to give readers a good laugh. Also, more than anything when reading various treatments of the Jealous, Conniving Cousin framing his handsome rival the Earl’s heir – it seemed to me that mere pecuniary motives weren’t sufficient – the intensity of the relationship between the two cousins, which often seemed more intense than that of their relations with their women love object – was neglected, or swept to one side, possibly, as Not Very Nice and too deep a topic for a romance, historical or otherwise.

In Robert Ravensdale, I am depicting a man motivated by a tormented and unrequited love that has dismal consequences for everyone.

2. Why do you write?

I seem to be driven to. I think that’s a common answer. I sometimes think that what a peasant woman from the eighteenth century called
‘writing down lies’ is very strange.

4. How does your process work?

I don’t know myself! I come by some idea and gradually it builds up. I think about it when doing prosaic things, like washing floors, gardening, etc.

I write in longhand in a notebook first thing in the morning, before and during my early morning tea. I always admire people who get 1,000 words a day done. That would be an exceptionally good day for me, I do about four hundred on average. Later I type it up.

I did suffer from dreadful writers block on ‘Ravensdale’ and it took me about a month to get over it, more, in fact. I simply didn’t see how I could get all the characters lined up for the finale, but it came to me in the end,and then I wondered how I’d had so much difficulty. It was the same with ‘That Scoundrel Emile Dubois’ and ‘Aleks Sager’s Daemon’. The first two thirds go swimmingly for me, but that last third is like swimming through a marsh (or worse) as distinct from gliding through a warm sea.