| General Fiction posted September 26, 2017 | Chapters: |
...5 6 -7- 8... 
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Book chapter
A chapter in the book Briarly Hall
Lord Airdale
by zanya
| Background Lord Airdale is the son of Squire Alfred of Briarly Hall. He is concerned about his inability to produce a male heir for the estate. His sister is a Suffragette. |
Lord Airdale caught sight of his jaw in the mirror in the early morning spring light. M-mm, he thought to himself. Still a handsome devil, though on the wrong side of forty. Why a few grey hairs at the temples should only serve to enhance my mystique for the fairer sex.
His loyal butler, Charles, had carefully laid his breakfast tray with his favourite earl grey tea, together with buttered toast and marmalade. Though having lived for more than a decade between Milan and Rottingen, his palate longed for flavours of his English homeland.
Charles was such a loyal fellow, always careful to see to it that he received an English newpaper with his marmalade.
He glanced disinterestedly at the headlines.
Not the Suffragettes again, he thought. Front page news again. Chanting and marching and blocking the London streets.
On closer inspection, he recognised his only sister, Lady Mathilde, behind the podium in Trafalgar Square from the weekend events. He swiftly turned the page and proceeded to the financial section to evaluate the Stock Exchange returns. Suffragette unrest would only serve to dimish returns on the family Stocks.
'Drat', he cursed quietly to himself, he couldn't figure out why Mathilde could immerse herself in such hostility on the streets among the....the rabble? Quite an appalling vista.
He recalled Mathilde's childhood obsession with injured birds and rabbits on the Briarly Estate when they were children. Long afternoons spent tending to their injured wings or paws. Always championing life for the underdog. Papa too, he recalled, worried a great deal about his only daughter and her future marriage prospects.
One cannot live one's life by other peoples' misfortunes.
Who would pay attention to a bevy of women looking for, what was it, voting rights?. Men were the only ones who should decide who is entitled to take seats in Parliament. After all they are the ones in charge of family fortunes and fiscal matters.
Women were better suited to domestic affairs, hosting afternoon tea with cucumber sandwiches, but most importantly ensuring heirs for the next generation.
Lady Mathilde, he reflected, at thirty, had now reached early middle age and should be preoccupied with pursuing a suitable husband to father her child. Suitable husbands would not be available forever. Womens' looks did not improve with time, unlike men, who distinctly became a great deal more interesting with the passage of time.
Surely Mama, he thought, should advise Lady Mathilde not to waste any more time on causes and rather assist her in attracting an eligible man to be her lawful wedded husband.
Spinsters were not at all a desirable prospect at Briarly Hall. Tricky business of property rights. Quite a horrible, messy business, this Suffragette activity which now seemed to be attracting far too much public attention.
Enough of that. Today Lord Airdale would have the pleasant duty of accompanying his son and heir, Lord Elston, to his first day at school.
Lord Elston was a happy-go-lucky child. His dark features, however, bore no resemblance to his father's pale English complexion. Notwithstanding, Elston was his heir, the only heir or at least the only heir of which he was aware.
Lord Airdale liked to daydream, when the mood took him, about other possible offspring sired from his English loins. A man of forty years plus, besotted with beautiful women, must perforce, have already sired a line of blue blood. He smiled to himself at the thought. No shortage of heirs for Briarly Hall in the fullness of time.
With Lady Elsie, his paramour, he, occasionally shared his son's upbringing. In his native Norfolk, illegitimate heirs were dark secrets, hidden under false names and often raised far from their ancestral homes. Here In Rottingen young men flaunted bastard offspring. It was the mark of a man, proof of his manliness.
He wondered about his own father , Squire Alfred, how he had managed any offspring sprouted from his youthful wild oats. No one broached the subject, though there were times in his youth when distant cousins were introduced into the family circle with dubious lineage.
No such problem for his more enlightened generation.
Butler Charles, knocked on his door.
'Letter my Lord.'
Lord Airdale undid the seal and scanned the contents, raising his eyebrows in dismay.
It read:
My Dearest Lord Airdale,
My son, Lord Elston and I are re-locating to India with his father.
I hope this finds you well.
Lady Elise
Regaining his composure, he paused to reflect on the contents of the letter.' India, with his father. But ...but.. I am the child's father, surely,' he exclaimed.'Following that night of passion in Milan.. Lady Elise...no....it cannot be...',he said to himself.
Butler Charles rushed to his master's side,'Is anything the matter, Sir', he enquired.
'No.... no... not at all Charles...nothing that a single night of passion cannot fix', Lord Airdale whispered to himself.
Removing his leather satchel, cane and bowler hat from the hall stand and buttoning his great coat against the chilly morning air, he strode out purposefully.
Sired from his English loins indeed.....perhaps the potential brood were not so prolific as he might have first thought.
Papa will be concerned if there are no male heirs. What of Briarly Hall with such a barren line ? No male heir? The thought was disconcerting.
Lady Mathilde was too busy fighting causes to find a suitable husband to provide an heir.
Paternity was now a matter of urgency.
Lord Airdale felt it was his filial duty , to do all in his power, to sire a male heir for Briarly Hall. Middle age began to feel like a burden. He recoiled at the prospect of providing male heirs. It now began to feel like an onerous and unwelcome duty.
His loyal butler, Charles, had carefully laid his breakfast tray with his favourite earl grey tea, together with buttered toast and marmalade. Though having lived for more than a decade between Milan and Rottingen, his palate longed for flavours of his English homeland.
Charles was such a loyal fellow, always careful to see to it that he received an English newpaper with his marmalade.
He glanced disinterestedly at the headlines.
Not the Suffragettes again, he thought. Front page news again. Chanting and marching and blocking the London streets.
On closer inspection, he recognised his only sister, Lady Mathilde, behind the podium in Trafalgar Square from the weekend events. He swiftly turned the page and proceeded to the financial section to evaluate the Stock Exchange returns. Suffragette unrest would only serve to dimish returns on the family Stocks.
'Drat', he cursed quietly to himself, he couldn't figure out why Mathilde could immerse herself in such hostility on the streets among the....the rabble? Quite an appalling vista.
He recalled Mathilde's childhood obsession with injured birds and rabbits on the Briarly Estate when they were children. Long afternoons spent tending to their injured wings or paws. Always championing life for the underdog. Papa too, he recalled, worried a great deal about his only daughter and her future marriage prospects.
One cannot live one's life by other peoples' misfortunes.
Who would pay attention to a bevy of women looking for, what was it, voting rights?. Men were the only ones who should decide who is entitled to take seats in Parliament. After all they are the ones in charge of family fortunes and fiscal matters.
Women were better suited to domestic affairs, hosting afternoon tea with cucumber sandwiches, but most importantly ensuring heirs for the next generation.
Lady Mathilde, he reflected, at thirty, had now reached early middle age and should be preoccupied with pursuing a suitable husband to father her child. Suitable husbands would not be available forever. Womens' looks did not improve with time, unlike men, who distinctly became a great deal more interesting with the passage of time.
Surely Mama, he thought, should advise Lady Mathilde not to waste any more time on causes and rather assist her in attracting an eligible man to be her lawful wedded husband.
Spinsters were not at all a desirable prospect at Briarly Hall. Tricky business of property rights. Quite a horrible, messy business, this Suffragette activity which now seemed to be attracting far too much public attention.
Enough of that. Today Lord Airdale would have the pleasant duty of accompanying his son and heir, Lord Elston, to his first day at school.
Lord Elston was a happy-go-lucky child. His dark features, however, bore no resemblance to his father's pale English complexion. Notwithstanding, Elston was his heir, the only heir or at least the only heir of which he was aware.
Lord Airdale liked to daydream, when the mood took him, about other possible offspring sired from his English loins. A man of forty years plus, besotted with beautiful women, must perforce, have already sired a line of blue blood. He smiled to himself at the thought. No shortage of heirs for Briarly Hall in the fullness of time.
With Lady Elsie, his paramour, he, occasionally shared his son's upbringing. In his native Norfolk, illegitimate heirs were dark secrets, hidden under false names and often raised far from their ancestral homes. Here In Rottingen young men flaunted bastard offspring. It was the mark of a man, proof of his manliness.
He wondered about his own father , Squire Alfred, how he had managed any offspring sprouted from his youthful wild oats. No one broached the subject, though there were times in his youth when distant cousins were introduced into the family circle with dubious lineage.
No such problem for his more enlightened generation.
Butler Charles, knocked on his door.
'Letter my Lord.'
Lord Airdale undid the seal and scanned the contents, raising his eyebrows in dismay.
It read:
My Dearest Lord Airdale,
My son, Lord Elston and I are re-locating to India with his father.
I hope this finds you well.
Lady Elise
Regaining his composure, he paused to reflect on the contents of the letter.' India, with his father. But ...but.. I am the child's father, surely,' he exclaimed.'Following that night of passion in Milan.. Lady Elise...no....it cannot be...',he said to himself.
Butler Charles rushed to his master's side,'Is anything the matter, Sir', he enquired.
'No.... no... not at all Charles...nothing that a single night of passion cannot fix', Lord Airdale whispered to himself.
Removing his leather satchel, cane and bowler hat from the hall stand and buttoning his great coat against the chilly morning air, he strode out purposefully.
Sired from his English loins indeed.....perhaps the potential brood were not so prolific as he might have first thought.
Papa will be concerned if there are no male heirs. What of Briarly Hall with such a barren line ? No male heir? The thought was disconcerting.
Lady Mathilde was too busy fighting causes to find a suitable husband to provide an heir.
Paternity was now a matter of urgency.
Lord Airdale felt it was his filial duty , to do all in his power, to sire a male heir for Briarly Hall. Middle age began to feel like a burden. He recoiled at the prospect of providing male heirs. It now began to feel like an onerous and unwelcome duty.
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