Story Snip from Larksong: Chapter 10 and Lausanne Aquarium

hapter 10!

Larksong is set in Montreal, July 1914.

In chapter 1, Alice, after her grandmother's funeral, arrived at the family cottage to take care of her grandmother's aviary, only to find that her parents had already leased the cottage to another family for the summer.

The only way she could have one more summer in her favourite place was to surreptitiously take on the role of governess to the two young girls...

In chapter 2, we met George, laid up at the hospital with a broken leg. Instead of joining his friends on a Grand Tour of Europe, he's being sent off to recuperate at a rented cottage in the country...

In chapter 3, we returned to Alice's point of view, and saw her bonding with George's younger sisters. Then she got a surprise -- George was arriving at the cottage that very day!

In chapter 4, we had a hint that Alice finds George attractive and interesting -- but also unbearably rude.

In chapter 5, they had their first argument.

In chapter 6, they argued once more, but the stakes were higher: war is on the horizon.

In chapter 7, George attempted a rapprochement. The chapter ended with him asking, "Why don't we both go sit in the parlour?"

In chapter 8, Alice had some feelings stirring...

In chapter 9, during their first evening together, they began to suss each other out over a card game.

In chapter 10, we reach the end of the evening, with harsh words from George, but a détente of sorts.

(I've called the card game euchre, as a precursor to bridge, but if there's a better possibility, please let me know! The rules have been modified to suit the plot; we're pretending they're playing a local variation.)

Two hands later, her partner was leading by ten points. It was easy enough to manage both hands and yet play fairly; the cards dictated a certain limit of choice and, though in some cases it was simple enough to determine what cards George or his invisible partner held, there was yet enough of a challenge that he was only two points behind North. She herself was four points behind that, and George's partner was trailing.

"Your family is from Montreal?" she asked as he dealt the third hand on behalf of his partner. George had refilled his tumbler from the flask, offering her some with a tilt of the head. She'd declined, all the while watching for signs that the drink was going to his head. That would make him easier to question.

"Toronto, originally, when we first emigrated," he told her. "My father moved us out to Montreal soon after the Boer War."

It struck her that George, while sporting the same tumble of dark hair that characterised all the brothers and cousins, looked nothing like Charles, having darker eyebrows, a more aquiline nose, and brighter eyes. They sparkled and glittered jewel-green in the lantern light as he gleefully racked up another round of points.

It was on the night of the ball that she'd sworn off marriage as a waste of a woman's faculties––struck by the ridiculousness of being put on display in her Ogilvy-bought gown, for every man to ogle and every woman to envy, with all looking on, except the one man she desired––and, from then on, had thrown herself into her studies and the time she devoted to useful charitable functions. That summer, she'd attended the bare minimum of parties and events required to please her mother, but no more, as Charles did not appear at any to make them worthwhile.

She'd soon grown out of her infatuation for him, but not any further from the resolution he'd driven her to. Now, though, if she could steer the conversation skillfully enough, she might find out the reason for the Cunnick family's rejection of her invitation, and appease that corner of her heart that still belonged to her bruised young self.

She dealt the next round, as George added, "Father hopes to hand over the business entirely to me as soon as I've proved myself, and go in for politics full time."

His chest rose and his shoulders squared as he spoke, and Alice couldn't help being impressed. Although, oddly, George appeared defiant rather than proud. He was very young still to share full rein of such a prominent industry. The Cunnicks had fingers in lots of pies, from breweries and sugar refineries, to railways and construction. Her own family's holdings were nothing to sneeze at either. But how would a governess reply?

"You must be excited at the prospect of so much responsibility. I suppose it won't leave much time for social calls." She sorted her and her partner's hands and waited for him to play his first trick.

"I wouldn't say that." He tossed a knave of clubs onto the sofa cushion between them. "It's my final exams that've kept me busy. And hockey. Or it had, until––" He scowled at his leg and slapped down a three of clubs on his partner's behalf.

She had her own card ready and covered his before he'd even moved his hand. Their fingers brushed. Sparks shot through her as if she'd cast a log on a low fire. Embers flared in every direction.

George cast her a quick glance. Refusing to blush, or at least to hide the faint flush of her cheeks behind her hand or cards, she played a card at random from her partner's hand, and immediately realised her mistake.

She lost that round spectacularly, as George swept out trump after trump. She'd barely blushed, but if she'd meant to hide how flustered she was by his touch, she could not have failed in a more obvious fashion.

He cast knowing glances her way as he shuffled and dealt the next hand, and she wanted to slap the smirk on his face. He thought she was a simple governess, bowled over by a chance to sit with the master, like characters in a straitlaced Victorian romance.

Perhaps he'd had an oh-so-important hockey tournament the night of her coming out––it wouldn't have mattered, as George would've been a boy of 16 at the time––but she was no nearer to learning the reason for Charles' absence.

Yet all desire to question him had seeped out of her. Role playing was thankless, frustrating work. She simply wanted to end the game and go up to bed.

She did her best to make further random plays, yet she or her partner won each of the next four hands. George stopped giving her sly looks, and the scowl he'd borne all afternoon reshadowed his face.

"You're rather adept at this game after all," he commented, after a long stretch of silence.

"I studied from a book once," she said, inventing wildly.

"Hmph. I suppose that's one way."

"You disapprove?" She tossed a king onto the pile and swept up another trick.

"Books can't teach one to read cards. They're merely useful for detailing the rules of a game."

"Some might offer hints at strategic plays." She swept another hand off the sofa, murmuring the score under her breath––her partner led by 20 now––and shuffled for the last hand.

"Methods of cheating, you mean." He forewent his now empty tumbler and slugged directly from the flask. His throat moved as he swallowed and for an instant she arrested her movements, admiring the graceful line of jaw and cheekbone. Then she caught herself, and dealt, so furiously that a card flew into his lap.

"Where have you really played before?" he asked, taking up the card. That smirk never left his face.

"What are you implying?"

"Oh, just an idle question," he said airily. He was slurring his syllables now. "You don't teach your charges to gamble, I hope. I won't––don't need my sisters learning––"

"I assure you I have no such inclinations. If you must know, I have played often with my siblings. I am not accustomed to having such accusations directed at me, Mr. Cunnick."

"Sure, sure, whatever you like. Thought you were going to call me George, eh?" He set down his cards and reached for the flask again, then turned it upside down and shook it. "Damn. Forget the record, eh? I'd like a single malt as my prize."

"Unless you'd like to play another round, it appears I shall be the claimant." She tossed her last trump between them. "I believe all the rest are mine."

"Brilliant. That's torn it." He shoved himself upright. "No drink, no music, and a girl that won't––" He snapped his mouth shut and turned away, hoisting his leg off the cassock and grabbing at his crutches.

"Won't what, Mr. Cunnick?" she asked in a low voice. "Who do you take me for?"

"Nothing. Forget it. I said forget it!" he cried, though she hadn't opened her mouth. He shoved the crutches under his arms, swung round and went through the door, but of course he hadn't taken a lantern.

His thump-step stopped in the middle of the dark hall. A small cheep came from the aviary. She'd pulled the curtains, but Granny's birds were ever alert to new noises. And curses.

What would Granny say if she could hear the accusations being flung at her granddaughter in her own house?

Should Alice swallow her pride and remain the meek governess? She had to, for the sake of the birds. She'd have to ensure they were placed in good hands. And she might at least ensure one final summer of peace for the house itself. Why, if it wasn't lost to a gambling debt soon, the very air of it would be befouled by George's manner.

Perhaps as governess she could at least try to influence George's sisters against his contrary ways.

Flinging off the afghan, she straightened her skirts, grabbed his flask and one of the lanterns and left the room. She swept past George, standing stock still in the middle of the floor, and opened the door to his bedroom.

Setting flask and lantern on the side table, she marched regally back to the parlour and tidied up the cards, gathered the tray and the other lantern, marched past him a third time and, leaving the tray in the kitchen, headed up the stairs.

George did not once move or say thank you.

A few photos from a trip to Lausanne Aquarium over the summer!

Various fishies!

Lizards!

Blurry photos of beautiful corals

A pirate ship!

A ray!

Lunch!

Fast-moving pufferfish!

View from the train of the Lavaux Vineyards

Evening sun back home

Dessert!

What's your favourite fish or sea creature?