Lives That Fallg

7/30/2019 Lives That Fallg

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Part One.

The girl could hear the gentle whistling of the wind through the

ceiling of leaves above her, calling out their soft songs that

complimented the crunching of the grass under her wandering feet.

She knew nothing of the beautiful green shapes she saw around her,

yet she loved them as much as the book she was holding delicately in

her hands. She was standing in the middle of the dense woodlands

that was just East of the estate and near the side of the road, yet nohorse or cart had come to disturb her.

Clara Courthand tucked a small piece of hair from her face as she

turned a page with her other hand, curious of where the character was

going to go next in the wonderful world that the author had created.

So talented, so lucky to be able to express what they wished-

"Clara?"

The voice startled the girl, making her jump and drop the book. Clara

sniffed, filling her lungs will cool, refreshing air.

"Clara?"

"Yes?"

The girl spun on her heels, feeling her dress spin out around her like ashield of protection, and saw her sister, Helene, dressed neatly in a

purple dress, her dark hair up in a high, well-done bun.

"You're needed in the dining room, it can't be healthy being out here

alone." Helene said bluntly, her voice commanding and sour, but

Clara sniffed disapprovingly. "You will end up like Floyd otherwise,

and no one wants that."


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"Poor Floyd," Clara began, closing the book and tucking it under her

arm. "but I shall come if I am needed."

"You are." Helene turned so that her back was to her younger sister.

"It's about William."

Clara felt her face drain of colour and she hurriedly followed her

sister back to the house, the sounding of crunching leaves fading

behind her.

Part Two

Elizabeth Courthand was twenty one years old and three months

exactly, three years and two months younger than her brother William,

the oldest of the family. Back straight and eyes alert, Elizabeth was

staring intently at her mother, who was holding a telegram in her

shaking, elegant hand. Lady Courthands hand had never been

anything but elegant, and it was beautiful even now, as it held a

telegram with anticipation in her eyes. Shed opened a letter just after

the family had dispersed after breakfast, and shortly after, a telegram

had arrived. The letter was from William, and they feared that the

telegram had no good news.

Clara entered the room, trailing behind Helene, who was adjusting her

hair. She sat down beside her mother, and Clara hopped from foot tofoot as she took deep breaths, staring at her father. Lord Courthand

was standing by the fireplace, hand resting on the mantelpiece and his

head bowed- he hadnt looked up when his two daughters entered the

room, but his eyes were fixed on his wife. Next to his wife sat Floyd

Courthand, the only son left in the house, who was intently reading a

book. William, their eldest child, had gone away to fight two years

ago, and soon, they knew Floyd would be called up to do his duty too.


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Mother, are you going to open the telegram now? Helene and Clara

are here. Elizabeth asked, tucking a small piece of her brown hair

behind her ear.

Yes, Elizabeth, but just wait a moment. Lady Courthand murmured,

looking at her husband intently before clearing her throat. Albert?

Hmm?

Are you ready, dear?

Lord Courthand adjusted the front of his jacket and nodded curtly,

slapping the back of Floyds head to indicate that he needed to pay

attention. Rubbing his neck, Floyd shut the book and rested it gently

on his lap, his eyes glazed over. Clara knew he never listened to

family conversations.

Open it, mother. Elizabeth hissed, frowning. Helene glanced at her,

lips pursed and eyes angry, whilst Clara sniffed and stood still

momentarily, curious of the telegram her mother held in her hand.

Lady Courthand paused and then carefully opened the telegram,

taking a deep breath and casting her gaze down onto the piece of

yellow paper. Her mouth slowly formed an O and her eyes went

wide, causing the fragile wrinkles to disappear.

Its not about William. She said in a strangled voice, But it is

about Floyd.

Floyd, who wasnt focused, looked to his sister, Clara, and then to his

mother, who still looked horrified.

What is wrong? he asked, pushing his light brown hair from his

pale face and biting his lower lip.

Its.Williams officer wantswants you to go and fight

immediately. He says you must sign up.

Well, we knew that was coming-


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No, Lady Courthand said sharply, interrupting her husband, The

officerwants Floyd to go and fight with William in France, to, to

Mother, please pass me the note. Floyd said, straightening his back

and taking the telegram from his mother. His face crinkled as he read

the text as fast as he could, his Adams apple bobbing up and down.

They want me to fight so that Im like my brother. They say the

Army is perfect for me, and Ill be well treated, Officer Parkand says

hed make sure I am alrightso I dont bring shame upon this family

I need to go soon, because my weakening condition will not be

affected by war. Floyds eyes darkened, and he dropped the paper.

You were going to fight anyway, darling, do not get-

Floyd stood up forcefully, letting the book slide to the floor with a

thundering crash, and stormed from the room, leaving an awkward

silence in his wake.

He was going to fight anyway. Helene said, looking at her father,

who seemed ashen faced.

Yes, Lord Courthand muttered, But it seems they do not think he

joined up quick enough.

Hes only just eighteen! Lady Courthand interrupted, her face

turning pale and her hands shaking. Its not his fault! He ... Oh, now

weve gone and upset him, his health is not in the disposition to be

upset.

Hell get through it, Mary, dear. Her husband said breathlessly, and

moved away from the fire, returning to his favourite red armchair

before closing his eyes.


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Part Three.

Helene was sitting on her bed, combing her hair by herself. It fell inloose curls around her stomach and the mahogany handle of her brush

was becoming slippery with sweat. She was nervous, her stomach

twisting uncomfortably because of the talk downstairs- a floor below

her, her father was shouting indecently about a subject she could not

distinguish.

There was a quite knock, and Helene hushed a come in; the door

creaked open slightly and Clara came in, dressed in a long, silk bluedress with a pale lilac high necked shirt blouse underneath- Helene

suspected that Clara was planning to go to their grandmothers house

for dinner, but her plans had been foiled because their parents were

shouting.

What are they shouting about? Clara asked, pushing her hair from

her face. Helene flushed and shrugged, not knowing. Floyd and

Elizabeth were in their rooms- Elizabeth had Miss Jerrion to dress her

so that she could go out for the afternoon, and Floyd was probably

reading by himself.

Maybe something has happened in the village. Helene said

curiously, putting her brush down on the blue sheets. Never mind-

Im going downstairs to see what is wrong. It could concern us.

**

James pushed a small piece of wet hair from his face; feeling the soft

tingling in his legs fade and the thumping in his temples subside just a

little. He looked up into the sun and felt a blinding pain- he hadnt felt

so ill since hed eaten an old piece of cheese from the Roochesters

farm shop, and he resisted the burning urge to gag.


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He was so near the grand house that if he stood up now, hed be

caught by the old miser butler looking far too smug, standing by the

fireplace with the good master of the house. James wasnt sure

whether the master of the house was actually a good man- he knewthat the oldest son, Master William, was in France fighting, and that

the family had many daughters- if the son was fighting, it meant the

son was a good, honest, strong man, and James then assumed that his

father must be, too. The butler, who used to be friends with James

uncle, was known to be a bit of an old grump- a tall, booming man

with a slightly wrinkled, sour face who made James shudder.

James felt an upheaval in his stomach- he felt sick and his head feltlight as he crawled on his hands and knees to the back of the grand

house, its turrets towering over him as though he was a small animal

cowering at the sight of his owner. He needed to get to the back of the

house so he could scurry past the kitchen- if he got that far, he might

be able to scavenge some old meat or bread from the tub that the

servants put their leftovers in

James crawled on his hands and knees, edging closer to the huge oak

door that lead through to the kitchen. Smells of pure delights wafted

across his nose, and he had to fight the urge to scream with pleasure.

He was so close-

BOY!

The young man froze with fear, petrified of his own small, scurrying

movements. He couldnt bear to even lift his head. He knew the voice

too well from when the old man gave a reading in church- it was the

miserly, miserable butler.

MRS CORSTER! the butler cried, his voice booming in James ears.

Mrs Corster! Get Lord Courthand, we have an issue.

James felt the last bit of breath escape his shrivelled lungs, and he let

complete blackness swallow him whole.


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Part Four

Floyds face was a picture of pure delight- he loved chaos and havoc,especially when it involved trivial matters concerning strangers and

his family together. His family, bursting with pride and financially

irrefutable, were not the simplest of people to get along with, and with

their unmovable values set into their minds, things that were new or

ground-breaking were not viewed as the best possible things to

happen. Something must have been completelystupendous for Lord

Courthand to be making such a racket

Floyd had gone down the grand staircase (it was called the grand

staircase not because it was polished and impressive, though it was,

but because it was the main staircase used by the family and nobles

who came to visit) as fast as his weak legs could carry him, a book

caught between two of his fingers so he didnt lose the page. His hair

flopped into his pale face, blurring his vision as he ran down to the

servants quarters, which was the whole of the basement and thesecond courtyard that the workers could call their own.

Floyd rushed down the small, stone stairs that lead down to the

basement, shivering slightly at the sudden change of temperature, and

turned the corner sharply, his shoes skidding in a small wet patch on

the floor-

Watchwhere youre-

There was a clatter, and then a startling pause. Floyd looked up

through his hair to see his fathers valet, Mr Llewellyn, a middle aged

welsh man with a rounded stomach and thick black glasses; his nose

had a slight curve and his lips were always lined with a thin coat of

spit from his constant coughing.


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I-Im v-very, very sorry Master Floyd, the bumbling man began, his

hands shaking slightly as he steadied Floyd, making sure he didnt

sway too much as he regained his balance. Please, please forgive-

Mister Llewellyn, please. Floyd raised his hands with a smile, his

book still lodged firmly in his grasp. It was a simple mistake, and I

was running too fast. Go about your business and let us think nothing

of it.

Thank you, Master Floyd. Llewellyn said with a firm nod, and

trotted quickly away up the stairs. Floyd adjusted his jacket a little

before setting off again, heading towards the kitchen where most ofthe din was sprouting from.

He paused before opening the door, taking a deep, steadying breath;

he pushed on the wood and slowly, it creaked open.

The first figure that caught his eye was his father, a tall, imposing

man, standing by the kitchen table with his hands placed firmly on the

oak. His face was the colour of beetroot and his expression looked

confused, but most of all his whole body language was clouded with

pure anger. The second figure that Floyd saw automatically was Mr

Bones, the butler. He was standing over a cowering figure, which was

crumbled gauchely in one of the spindly wooden chairs Mrs Corster,

the housekeeper, used to sit in when Floyd was a young child. Floyd

adored coming down into the servants quarters when he was young-

Mrs Corster and the young maids used to feed him bits of the deserts

before they were served, and Floyd had always showed the highest

respect to any of the servants under his fathers roof.

Floyd. His father stood up a little straighter, his eyes glinting with

anger. What are you doing down here?

I wanted to see what the matter was: theres a ridiculous amount of

shouting. The young man peered round one of the young maids, who

cowered a little under the gaze of the butler and master.


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Master Floyd, it was Mr Bones, standing by his father who seemed

unable to speak. We have an issue. We found a youngrascal

sniffing around our kitchen. He planned to stealfrom us.

Floyd evened out the pressure of his body weight onto both of his feet,

and calmly took a step forward to look at this rascal.

The body crumpled in the chair was a young man, maybe eighteen or

nineteen years old. His face was drained of colour and his pale blue

eyes were void of any expression- his lips were parted slightly and

had a gentle rosy tint to them, dampened by salty saliva that brooded

with puzzlement. Floyd felt his stomach flip a little and he coughedawkwardly into his sleeve.

He looks ill.

Ill? He is a thief, mlord! Bones declared, turning to Lord

Courthand, whose anger seemed to be subsiding gradually. He

should be punished.

Mr Bones, please return to my room and prepare my dinner jacket. Ican speak to this young man alone. Lord Courthand turned to his

daughters, Clara and Helene, who were seating beside him holding a

glass of water and a wet towel for the young man, who didnt seem to

know what had happened. Girls. Hand those things to your brother

and Dungle. We can take it from here; make sure Elizabeth goes to

see Mother on time.

Helene nodded graciously to her father and handed the water to

Dungle the footman, and Clara grumpily put the towel down on the

table, not looking at the servants as she walked away. George Dungle

and Floyd looked at Lord Courthand, who, with a wave of his hand,

dismissed Bones promptly. The room descended into awkward silence,

and Mrs Corster growled at the younger servants to go back to their

duties.


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Young man, Lord Courthand said slowly; the man in the chair

woozily looked up and gave a weak, pitiful smile. What is your

name?

My name is James Angatestone, sir.

What were you doing near our kitchens, Mister Angatestone? Floyd

quivered at the strength in his fathers voice.

II w-wasI cannot say it in a worthy way, sir, I am ashamed.

The young man pushed his dark hair from his face, which was wet-

looking with grease- Floyd had the burning urge to dunk his head in

the sink and wash it himself! I was going t-to see if you had any food,sir, and I know it was wrong to do so-

Quiet, Mister Angatestone. Stealing is not permitted on the

Courthand Estate. Do you know this?

Y-yes sir.

Are you starving, Mister Angatestone?

Floyd looked the young man up and down as quickly as he could, his

eyes lingering on the tightness of the boys too-small shirt: fine

muscle had wrapped themselves around the protruding ribs- the man

needed food desperately. Floyd had seen starvation in his books and

in the newspapersJames Angatestone was certainly starving.

Of course he is, father, he just does not want to say so. Floyd hissed

quietly, Lets just give him some of our food, and let him be. He did

not mean to cause such harm.

Lord Courthand frowned a little, but nodded.

I have an even better idea.

Father? Floyd was deeply confused- his father could be a little cruel

sometimes. Do not be unnecessary.


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Mister James Angatestone, please accept the offer of footman. I am

not usually so generous, but you are in dire need of help, and I am

willing to give it. Lord Courthand put his hands together and

straightened up. Dungle, get the boy dressed and send him to me assoon as you can. He will have a months formal training, and we shall

see what he can do from there.

Thank you, sir! Angatestone stood up very carefully, and offered

out his rough hand to Lord Courthand. Looking a little put out, the

Lord shook the young mans hand eagerly and nodded, motioning to

Floyd that they should leave. And as Floyd left, he felt Angatestones

eyes on his back, watching.

Part Five.

Mrs Corster stared blankly at the young man in front of her; he looked

a mess, his hair wet with grease and his face was smudged with soot.With her arms folded, she handed the man a cloth and a small bowl of

water.

George will take you to his room, where you can wash. Hell get you

the clothes youll need, and then we must feed you- you look

famished.

The young man stood up and nodded, wobbling a bit.

Thank you very much, missus.

Call me Mrs Corster; Im the housekeeper. She said bluntly, and

bustled away, concerned with more important things.

Once washed, James was handed a smart white shirt, a black tie, and amatching clean black suit that was a little too small. He put them all


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on, struggling with the tie a little, and then smiled at himself in the

mirror. His hair was dripping, and he looked half dead, but he

supposed he looked marginally presentable, otherwise Mr George

Dungle the footman wouldnt have allowed him out.

Straightening his back, James headed into the large, spacious kitchen

that was bubbling with noise. The maids were helping with laying out

the lunch and the footmen where having a break, sipping their cups of

tea, whilst the housekeeper, Mrs Corster, chatted with one of the older

maids.

Ah, James. Mrs Corster smiled lightly and pointed to a seat near her.Please sit. I have some tea and a sandwich for you.

Thank you very much, missus. James said thankfully, sitting down

and picking up the sandwich as fast as he could; he was stopped

before eating, buy the strong voice of a man behind him.

Who is this?

James turned around to see a man, dressed in an incredibly cleanwhite shirt matched with brown chord trousers.

James, this is Mister Cecil Lorton, one of the chauffers. Cecil, this

is James Angatestone, our new footman.

The man looked sceptically at the housekeeper.

I never heard of no new footman bein asked for. Lorton muttered,

staring down at James with a grumpy expression on his face. James

shrugged.

Its just my luck, I guess. He said lowly, and he heard one of the

maids giggle.

Harriet, hush! Mrs Corster snapped, and the young maid scurried

away, clutching a large pile of white linen. Harriet is one of the

maidsOh, youre here! James, this is Mrs Jerrion, the Ladys Maid.


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She dresses the young mistresses of the house, who are Clara, Helene

and Elizabeth. James caught the eye of a dark haired, hard looking

woman with a mean expression; her eyes were crinkled with wrinkles

and her hands were bony and long. That over there is HerbertKambey- hes one of the footman, along with George and Edward. Ed

is currently out; he must be doing something useful.

I hope hes doing something useful! Lorton sniffed, as James went

to take a bite of the sandwich. He was forced to pause, however, when

Mrs Corster pointed out another member of staff.

Oh and heres Agnes- Agnes Briggs is the Ladys Maid and shedresses Lady Courthand. Mrs Corster said hurriedly, gesturing to a

small, slight lady with curly red hair and a sweat, kind smile. Oh, eat

up, James. George, Herbert and Edward must train you up a little

before you go out. The Lord might forgive your mistakes as he knows

your position, but you must be trained, even if its just a little, before

you go and serve the family.

Of course, missus. James said, and finally took a bite of hissandwich.

**

You hired a new footman? Lady Courthand stared at her husband

with huge, glaring eyes. Footman?!

Yes, darling, I did Albert shook his head a little and sat down on

the chaise lounge, rolling his neck. The poor boy was in desperate

need of help.

Footman, though? We really need another butler, Mary laughed,

putting her hands together and resting them in her lap. But I guess he

can be trained.


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Yes, and hell be trained by very good people. Albert sniffed, and

smiled at his wife. How is Floyd? He was awfully put out by that

letter earlier today.

Mary lowered her eyes and her hands moved up to adjust a jewel

hairpiece which was lodged artfully in her thick, dark hair.

He is alright now. I think a little bit ofcaffufleis good for him- he

enjoys it. And anyway, hes been a lot better since you got him to see

that new doctor over in Salsworth.

Albert nodded, casting his mind back to when he first met the young

doctor, Ammers, a few months ago. Conversation had arisen, andAlbert had got to mention his ill son, and how much hed appreciate it

if Ammers could come to the estate and see if he could help

Yes, he has been considerably better. Darling, lets go down to

lunch. Albert was dying to chance the conversation.

Yes, lets! Mary said, and outstretched her hand so that Albert

could take it.

Part Six.

Floyd smiled a little as he heard a thunderous knock on the door. The

scurrying footsteps of a young maid could be heard, and the guest waswelcomed in with the most gracious of his fathers mini-speeches

involving hospitality and freedom; free to walk the house and the

grounds as they wished, and their requests would be met with great

hospitality

FLOYD!

Floyd chuckled a little at the shout from downstairs- his fatherobviously wanted him. He put down his book and hurried from his


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room on the second floor, trying to appear calm as he saw the

monstrously ginger hair of Stephen Ammers, the psychologist.

Ah, Floyd, there you are. Lord Courthand cleared his throat and put

on a fake smile, opening up his arms so that Floyd could step into the

Lords personal space. There was no touching. Ammers is here to

see you.

Floyd tucked a thin piece of hair out of his eyes and blinked before

extending his hand to Stephen, who took it gratefully and pulled

Floyd in for a manly hug, thought Floyd could never see how any

touching could be considered manly. Patting him on the back,Stephen let Floyd go and smiled widely at him, pushing his hands into

the pockets of his tweed jacket.

Feel free to use any room you wish, gentlemen. I shall be in the

study; only disturb me if it is necessary, mind. I have work to do.

Of course, Lord Courthand. Stephen said, and Floyds father

walked away, hands touching behind his back. Stephen turned to

Floyd, his face beaming.

How are you today? he asked as Floyd led him through to the day

room.

Imbetter than when you last saw me. replied Floyd, offering one

of the huge, patterned green arm chairs for Stephen to sit in, but the

young man declined. Mister Ammers, please sit.

I once again mustask you to call me Stephen, Floyd. Rank and status

are irrelevant here; we are friends, are we not?

Floyds cheeks turned an odd shade of pasty pink, and he nodded.

We are friends, yes; then I have the full right to order you to sit

down with me as a friend.


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Stephen smiled and sat down, the chair squeaking under the weight a

little. Floyd stared for a few seconds at the absent fire, and then

remembered to look up at Stephen, who was adjusting his burgundy

silk tie.

Discharged from the army a year ago due to being shot in the foot, the

young London psychologist had been coming to visit the Courthand

family for nearly two months- once a fortnight- and had been

requested to analyse the second son of the house, Edwin Floyd

Courthand, more commonly known as Master Floyd, aged eighteen.

The meeting between Lord Albert Courthand and Mr StephenAmmers had occurred when they were both present at a large London

party full of academics- Lord Courthand was a friend of the host, and

it was Ammers first time at such a grand party. Only twenty three,

the young psychologist had been studying in London and had joined

the army on the grounds of wanting to finish his education afterwards.

Hes signed up to help troops (who arrived home) with the mental

scarring that came with war- many men had come home in an

unimaginable state, and had been deemed cowards, but Ammers

thought otherwise. Determined to help, hed set up his own small

practise in London once he had been discharged and had been invited

to the same party as Lord Courthand- conversation had flown freely,

and as soon as the Lord knew Ammers was a psychologist (and once

the job of a psychologist had been explained to the Lord), Lord

Courthand had wasted no time in persuading Ammers to come to the

Estate and lookat their youngest, probably disturbed son, Floyd.

Ammers was toying with the idea that Floyd had the new found

autism, a term coined by Swiss Psychiatrist Eugen Bleuler. Ammers

had met the man only once, and soon discovered his thesis concerning

a group of symptoms linked to schizophrenia. Though Ammers did

not believe Floyd had schizophrenia, he did believe, however, that he

was incredibly socially-withdrawn and had obsessions over certainsubjects.


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Within the first hour of meeting him, Ammers knew Floyd adored

airplanes, history, physics and literature. Floyds knowledge of flight

was aided by his love of physics which he had learnt from a tutor,

Herr Hubermann, a German mathematician, though his distaste ofmaths weighed him down. History was learnt from huge volumes that

were in the family library- the Aislie Library (named after the grand

house, Aislie Place, which was situated within the Courthand Estate)

was one of the finest in the country, and had such diverse topics

within its walls that Ammers had known Floyd would be well versed

in at least three subjects, though he had assumed they would be

politics, literature and a language. Floyds hate of French and Germanstemmed from cruel, cold governesses who preferred his older brother

William or in the case of the late Mrs Garrotte, hated miser, adored all

three girls and refused to teach the two boys at all! William had taught

himself French and German alone, but without nurture, Floyd had

neglected languages and was a poor, if not foul, linguist.

Maybe his mind is weak and not tested enough. Lord Courthand

had suggested to Ammers when they were strolling in the grounds,but Ammers had soon found that this was not the case. Floyd had one

of the most complex and interesting minds Ammers had ever come

across- the man, only eighteen, was better equipped with knowledge

on literature and history than most university lecturers, and his

obsessions with these subjects had given birth to a logical and huge

memory; all crammed into Floyds head.

Well, maybe he was overstimulated as a child. Elizabeth Courthand

had muttered when Ammers had unsuccessfully tried to get Floyd to

look him in the eye. Though unable to have a lengthy or pleasurable

conversation about personal beliefs or new topics such as politics or

war, Floyd loved to think and adored talking about the subjects he

was obsessed with. Interrupting him as a child had proved dangerous,

and William Courthand had a scar above his knee to prove it. Not

violent or energetic like most young men, Floyd had a very quiet and


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calm disposition; Ammers had a feeling he was studying people and

waiting for a time to speak, though trying to convey this idea to the

Courthand family had been more difficult than originally thought.

New ideas did not come easily into Aislie Place.

Did you speak with my father?

Stephen was ripped from his thoughts by Floyds hushed voice. He

shivered a little and nodded.

I spoke with him after the last session. It is very hard to infiltrate

your fathers old ideas- it shall take some time for him to come round

to the idea.

It is because he hates the idea that his son has got something wrong

with him. Floyd muttered, stretching his legs out.

Are you sure that is the reason?

No, but it could be a valid one. Have you written a report?

Yes I have and no, you cannot see it! Stephen laughed a little,knowing what Floyd would ask; Stephen wondered whether Floyd

understood banter. The man sniffed and gave the psychologist an odd,

confused expression.

Why can I not see it?

Iwas having a joke with you. Stephen explained, sitting up a little

straighter and looking around the room: it was painted a grey-greencolour, decorated with ornate gold picture frames holding oil-

paintings of the Courthand family. Do you know when people joke

with you, Floyd? Stephen speedily got his pencil out, poising it on a

small piece of white paper that he had in his file.

Floyds face contorted into a painful expression, lined with confusion

and anger.

No, I suppose I dont. Tell meenlightenme, Stephen.


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Stephen sighed and crossed his legs.

I shall begin. He said slowly, and took a deep breath.

Part Seven

On December the 14th, 1917, Floyd Courthand was sent to war.

The sounds were so immense that Floyd wanted to turn back. God, hewanted to turn back and run, run as fast as he could away from those

Germans and their huge guns. He was safe just a few minutes ago,

waiting to go out Over the Top. His hands trembled, barely able to

hold the rifle to his body as he staggeredHe could hear Williams

urging voice behind him, pushing him onwards even though his body

was telling him to crumple and give up.

Give up.

Die like the rest.

GO, FLOYD! his brother screamed, causing Floyd to look back and

search the bleak, grey landscape for his brother. Mud and blood was

being kicked high up into the air, the consistent force of the machine

guns lodged into the ground causing the soil to shake and fly, fly as

though it had wings- FLOYD!

He couldnt stop, but he slowed, extending a hand out behind him

blindly, hoping to feel the contact of flesh on his own bloody hand.

Floyd soon felt the softness of his brothers fingers, and he pulled, not

bothering to fire his loaded gun. Colliding painfully with a huge

mound of sandbags, he finally breathed, his lungs hurting and filling

with a mixture of grey smoke and the smell of rot: William collapsedon top of him, gasping heavily.


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Floyd dropped his rifle on the ground, feeling mud mingle with his

skin, and he tried to breathe normally- his lungs felt shrivelled and his

breaths were huge, shivering ones. His ears felt as though they were

bleeding and the noise was so leviathan it made him want to scream.Too much noise, too much horrible, haunting noise!

Floyd, brother? Are you alright?

Floyd wrapped his hands around his ears; the skin blocked some of

the harrowing noise, but he could still hear echoes of the men.

Echoesechoes of terrible screaming and agony

Floyd, listen. William commanded, his face close to Floyds.Listen to me. Listen. We are going to go out there, and we are going

out there together.

No-

Floyd, please. We shall be shot if we stay. We need to run, okay?

Just run, like we used to when we played a jolly good game of cricket.

Remember the cricket?

Floyd nodded, feeling his face go hot.

Well, we shall play cricket when we get home, alright brother?

Come. Lets go. We are brave, Floyd, please lets go.

A crashing sound of gun fire nearly deafened them, making Floyd

shake with pious fear. He picked up his rifle cumbersomely, wiping a

salty tear from his eye. Be a man, he said to himself. He found his

brothers hand amongst the vile mud and squeezed it tightly, before

letting it go and placing his own hand on the trigger of the rifle,

feeling its cold smoothness against his burning skin.

Taking a deep breath, William and Floyd came out from behind the

sandbags, and ran.


22/33

Part Eight.

James straightened his back a little as he carried one of the silver trayscarefully into the dining hall. Hed been ordered topresent the food to

the family along with Mr Bones- the other footmen had not been

needed and James needed quick and efficient training so that he

could be on his way to becoming a grand and perfect under butler,

though James wasnt even sure what an under butler was. All he knew

was that he didnt want to be anywhere underMr Bones, or anyone in

factwell, more so Mr Bones.

He leant down so that the tray was eyelevel with Lady Courthand,

who took a few over-puffed salmon pastries, and then he brought the

tray back up so he could serve Lady Helene, who was dressed in a

thick dark blue dress that was the new fashion- ankle length and with

a wide neck, the neck was framed in a huge split collar, and the edges

of the sleeves were cut off to reveal Lady Helenes soft hands and

wrists. Lady Clara refused the salmon, complaining of a headache,and she left within minutes.

Helene must be so ill to leave lunch so quickly. Lady Courthand

muttered, looking to her husband, who had barely touched his foot.

Albert, you have not eaten?

I am not hungry, darling. Lord Courthand waved James and Mr

Bones away, dismissing them.

Are you worried for William and Floyd? Elizabeth asked, putting a

piece of vegetable into her mouth. You do know they are fine, do

you not? We had a letter from them both last week.

Albert shrugged calmly, wiping his mouth with a white napkin.

Maybe I am too attached.


23/33

Do not say such silly things, Albert. Lady Courthand sniffed,

finishing her small meal. You have every right to be worried!

I am sitting here every day doing absolutely nothing, whilst my two

sons are in the harshest conditions known to man as of yet! They

could be dying, and what am I doing? Im sitting here eating roasted

vegetables and salmon! STUPID SALMON!

Mr Bones sniffed as he stepped away from the door, frowning at the

conversation behind the mahogany wood. James picked his body from

the wall he was leaning on and moved closer so that he could hear.

Albert, please, calm down.

My sons are AT WAR! AND I AM NOT!

Albert, please-

LEAVE ME!

Bones and James hurriedly stepped away from the door as it opened

hastily, the ladies of the house exiting the dining room as fast aspossible.

Mlady, are you alright? Bones huffed, his eyes finally leaving

James.

Yes, Bones, Im alright. My husband will require dinner in his

quarters tonight, whilst the girls and I will eat in the small dining

room. I am so very sorry, Bones-

Mlady, please. Bones said, It is no trouble.

**

James sat down, his face full of the mulligrubs. Mulligrubs was a new

word hed picked up from Mrs Prewett (and it meant grumpiness,

the word), the tubby but kind hearted cook who believed no one


24/33

should be in a bad mood longer than five minutes. John Ringwell, one

of the two valets, was sitting opposite him drinking a small cup of tea.

Why so glum, James? the young man asked, slicking back his pitch

black hair, his dark eyes unwavering from James face. A young boy

like you should not look so miserable.

It is not that I am miserableI am just thinking about the family

upstairs.

The Courthands? John murmured. What about them?

Theywell; they are rich, arent they?

Of course. John laughed, finishing his tea and smiling.

Are they notirritating? James asked in a hushed voice. Theyre

rich and they think they can do everything and anything they want

Stop! John hissed, folding his arms angrily. Just stop. Do not talk

of them like that, James, until youve been here longer. Ive been here

nearly seven years, and youve been here less than two months.Just.hold it.

James flushed and sat back, pushing hair from his eyes.

Alright. Sorry, John.

You better be, James. John hissed, getting up from his seat. You

should keep your mouth shut; otherwise you shall get into trouble.

Trust me.

Part Nine.

The call of the guns shook Floyds insides- he could feel the pounding

of the heavy footsteps into the mud; his body ached with stiff pain and


25/33


26/33

Are youcrying?

Floyd felt his eyes leak, causing him great discomfort and

embarrassment, but he forgot it when he glanced down at his dead

friend. His hand hovered over the gun which was slung over his

shoulder.

Look, let us go, Floyd. We shall be in trouble. William huffed,

tugging at his brothers coat. Theyif it makes you feel comforted,

Michael and Officer White are in a better place. Next time, we can

kill some Germans so they pay for the death of our friends.

Yeah, kill some Germans. Floyd said, though he didnt mean it.

Thats it! Lets go. William said, and pulled Floyd away.

**

A gentle wind brought a cold howling sound which rattled the

windowsill. James sat up, frowning, as he checked the clock on the

wall. His oil lamp was still on, as he had fallen asleep reading, and he

had the feeling that something was horribly wrong

He got up, pushing his white bed covers off himself, and he made his

way to the very small slit of a window about six foot from the floor.

He shut the small window, trying not to slam it, and hurried back intobed, turning off the gas lamp as he went.

Plunged into complete darkness, James shivered. He wasnt tired, and

he didnt know what to do about his new found ability to notsleep.

Hed been woken at night for three nights running now, but James did

not know what it was that made him open his eyes. He closed them,

hoping for gentle peace so that he might sleep, when there was a

harsh knocking sound.


27/33

Yes? James called out softly.

James, get up. snapped a hard voice, and James heart hurt when he

realised it was Bones. Oh God.

Y-yes, sir. James scrambled out of bed and stumbled to find a

match so he could light a candle that was positioned by his bed. It was

not worth trying to turn on the oil lamp, as it was the other side of the

room. Once lit, the candle flickered; he nearly ripped the hinges from

the door in anticipation.

Good evening, James. Bones said, dressed in a long white

nightgown.

I believe it is early morning, sir.

Bones gave James a dirty, angry look, and then huffed.

Regardless. James, hello. I am glad you are awake, as I have an

important job for you to do.

What is it, sir?

You must makea sandwich.

For who?! And why at this hour, sir?! James gasped, frowning at

Bones, who looked impatient.

Never you mind, James. Go and make a sandwich with whatever is

left in the kitchen. It is for the family upstairs.

They only want one sandwich?

Dont try to be smart James, it does not suit you. Go and make it.

Now!

Grumbling, James muttered dark language as he stepped out of his

room to make a mysterious sandwich.


28/33

Part Ten

In visions of the dark night

I have dreamed of joy departed-

But a waking dream of life and light

Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day

To him whose eyes are cast

On things around him with a ray

Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream- that holy dream,

While all the world were chiding,

Hath cheered me as a lovely beam

A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro' storm and night,

So trembled from afar-

What could there be more purely bright

In Truth's day-star?

Floyd tried not to think of home too often- it made William and him

sad to think of their sisters alone, or their parents full of worry. He


29/33

tried not to think of the servants with their own problems, having to

wait on his family hand and foot, though truly, they did not need it.

He hated the thought of the visitors coming and going, their footsteps

echoing around the house, clattering and hammering at his head.

Floyd tried not to think of his books, collecting dust on the shelves in

the library. He thought of Poe, he favourite poet, and the novel hed

wanted to write. Maybe war might help him clear his mind; make him

see things in a whole new, if not horrible, light.

He tried not to think of Aislie Place. He hated the thought of the small

garden by the kitchen not being tended to- the Lupins and Tulips hedplanted had made him happy when they bloomed in spring. The thing

is, he didnt even know if hed make itto the spring.

He sometimes thought of the peaceful grass that stretched out before

the house, vibrant green in spring and summer; it hosted the annual

cricket match and had made a perfect spot every year for the Village

Fayre, something that Clara and himself had always attended to show

the village support. Silly little things amused himit made Floydcheerful to think of his home, and that soon he could be back there.

Soon.

Part Eleven

The winter had come hard on the estate, causing Aislie Place to

descend into a grim, cold darkness during the day, and an even more

bitter feeling during the night. Elizabeth was sitting on her bed, gently

holding her hair in her hands and staring down at a crisp white letter.

She dropped her plat, letting it hit her chest with a hollow thump, and

picked up the letter slowly, unbelieving that she still even had theletter. Dated September the 12th, 1916, it had been one of her


30/33

favourite letters that Jonathan had ever sent. They had been

exchanging letters for a while, and they met secretly once a week. His

handwriting was small, neat but curled, and scripted in pure black ink,

and the letter itself talked of things that made Elizabeths heart flutterand her head spin- oh how wonderful Jonathan was-no, how

wonderful Jonathan hadbeen- and she clutched the letter close to her

heart.

She felt her eyes weep a little, her vision blurring- things could have

been so great if war had not taken her lover from her. Life would have

been so good if she could touch and hold Jonathan just one last time.

Love could have been so gracious if her heart wasnt in pieces. Lovecould be possible ifwarhadnt ripped Elizabeths heart out!

Fuelled with a ravenous anger, she threw the letter to the floor and

stood on it, the crunching sound echoing through her bedroom. She let

out a heated sob and crumbled to the floor, her knees colliding with

the hard, polished floor. Pain spread through her legs and her teeth bit

into her lip, drawing blood. She wrapped her arms around herself and

felt her chest heave unwittingly- no, she could not cry! Oh gosh, she

was going to cry

Elizabeth let out a huge, wavering cry- it was one of pain, mixed with

cooped up anger and resentment. It was her heart and her soul, her

wishes and dreams- all crushed and pouring from her mouth. God

damn everything, why did he have to die?!

She fell even further to the floor, so that her head smacked the

floorboards and her back curled, her flesh pressing into the cold

ground and hair obscuring her pretty, tear-soaked face.

No one understood. No one.

**


31/33

Where is Elizabeth?

Clara sniffed and looked around the room, her head peering over the

huge atlas she was holding. It was very late in the evening, so late that

the moon was peaking over the trees. Helene and Clara could not

sleep and had gone down into the library so they could read or talk

without being disturbed.

Probably asleep, silly, so why do you ask?

I heard a thump. Helene answered, glancing up at the ceiling. I

thoughtwell, I do not know what I thought. Should I go check on

her?

No, not yet. Its probably just Winifred again, putting out the fires.

This late? I doubt it.

Oh, Clara huffed, getting irritated. Hush would you? If you hear

another thump, you can go and check on her, but I am pretty sure that

everything is fine!

Just as she finished her sentence, there was an ungodly thump from

upstairs, making the chandelier rattle. Helenes heart fluttered

uncomfortably in her chest.

Im going to check on her. I dont care what you say. and with that,

Helene got up and hurried from the room.

Silly. Clara whispered under her breath, and got up to shut the door.

Unnerved by the silence that surrounded her, Helene took a calming

breath.

Elizabeth? she hissed, pausing outside her sisters bedroom door.

There was a small groan for a reply, and Helene frowned. Sister?


32/33

There wasnt a sound- Helene pushed on the wood of the door and

entered her sisters bedroom. Helenes eyes flickered from the open

windows to the figure laying on the floor, and her heart skipped a beat.

MOTHER! MOTHEEEER! she screamed, and collapsed to the

floor beside her sister to see if she was breathing.

Part Twelve.

James straightened his back a little as he walked to his room in thebasement. His head hurt and his eyes were bleary, his thoughts

confused. The day had been so tiring that he wasnt sure if he could

stand up any longer- he staggered, trying to keep upright, down the

hallway and burst into his room, slamming the wooden door shut

lazily.

He sat on his bed, rolling the muscles gently in his neck, and he let

out a drawn-out sigh.

It was nearing midnight, and his feet ached and his body craved for

the softness of his bed and coolness of an open window all night.

**not finished**

Part Thirteen.

Lord Courthand paced in an agitated manner, his brow sweating and

his hands clammy and awkward. It was the twelfth of November 1918,

and it had just been announced in the newspaper that the Great Warwas finally over- an amazing and glorious victory over the German


33/33

Kaiser and the armies. More importantly, the boys would be coming

home.

It was late in the afternoon when the servants had found out- the Lord

and Lady had called them all into the formal dining room, where the

young maid Winifred had lit the fire five minutes previously.

Standing with his feet slightly apart, James cleared his throat as the

Lord walked into the room. In his hand he held a small letter.

"Today, ladies and gentlemen, is the end of the war."

The room was momentarily silent except a small gasp from the Lady's

maid. James swallowed a stiff lump in his throat and clasped his

hands together behind his back, resisting the urge to jump for joy. No

one was expressing or showing any feeling at all, but why not?!

**NOT FINISHED**

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