Category: Teatime Tattler Page 133 of 153

Dear Mr. Clemens,

Thank you for letting me chime in with my addition for your wonderful chronicle.

Finding people who have the knack for irreverent curiosity, digging out the juiciest of tidbits and passing them along to you, is a favorite past time of mine.

Today my guest has the most fascinating story regarding a young woman who has been the talk of the town most recently, Arose Du Mouchelle.

A more ill-fated heiress you would be hard-pressed to find. She is the daughter of François Du Mouchelle. A widower. Until Lady Katherine Abbott, formerly of Gloucester, caught wind of his prosperity. Her ladyship came in lock stock and barrel with her two daughters and six cats. She skillfully set off to be me the next Mrs. Du Mouchelle.

The girl, after living with her new mother for only a few months, disappeared! We were told the child, being of gifted circumstance, had been sent abroad for ‘lessons’.

After many years already having seen over twenty summers, she returned home. When Lady Katherine’s eldest married, rumor has it Arose ran off with the notorious pirate, Captain St. James. Her whereabouts are still unknown.

My dear readers this is the most scandalous story of the year!

This brings me to the guest I entertained today.

Through delightful happenstance, during a meeting that purely coincidental, I am now in the confidence of a Miss Beatrice Cleary. I have discovered she had a front row seat to what transpired only days before the young lady’s quick exodus from Le Mason Du Mouchelle, based in Montego Bay.

I have invited Miss Cleary here for tea to discuss, before you my friendly tattlers…what exactly happened that day.

With my Shih-Tzu puppies Molly and Sophie yapping at the housekeepers heels, Miss Beatrice enters my home. Since having sent a note around inviting her to tea I am, as always, in hopes that she imports herself with more manners then her decade old hat and muddy shoes insinuate.

“Please come in Miss Cleary have a seat by the window. Have a teacake.” I say with earnest.

Afternoon genialities were saw to and after which I got down to the matter at hand.

“Miss Beatrice,” I ask, “What did you see Thursday last of Miss Arose? Inquiring minds simply must know.”

“Well, I sees Arose walking down the center of the street you see.” Beatrice’s bustle squeaked as she shifted in her seat. She continued, “I then spots those no account Murphy boys hawking about. I just knew they was in for some trouble. I sees them glaring at her in her fine frock.”

Miss Beatrice shoved another teacake into her mouth and said, “I runs up to her and tells her –‘that’s Shaw, Faolan and Liam. They ruined more than one ladies good name they has’.”

“My goodness, did she heed your warning?” I asked her divinely concerned.

“Well, you think she would have walked off, but she didn’t. Next thing you know, quick as a wink Missy herself lays out the biggest one, Shaw, on the street. Blood splattered everywhere, but not a drop on her ladyship’s jumper. She bows her head and walks off. Cool as a cucumber that one.”

There you have it gentle readers! A first account witness to what has taken Saint Anne’s Parish by storm. Where has Arose Du Mouchelle been and what has she been learning? Maybe this will give us some clues as to why she left and why with a notorious pirate. More to come next time…ta-ta for now.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Tellula Gossifer
______________________________________________________

About the Book

In a time and place where women are bred to be lambs, Arose has the soul of a tigress.

It is 1693 on the isle of Jamaica, and twenty-one-year-old, Arose Du Mouchelle, is the mixed-race heir to a sprawling sugar plantation. From an old gypsy, she receives a matriarchal heirloom: the Gem of the Red Spirit. She spends years in exile, learning its secrets and mysteries, the most important of which is the ability to enter the Astral Plane. In exchange for her powers, Arose must act as the sentry between this dimension and her world, forcing back the creatures held captive there.

Morel, a voodoo Priestess, covets the Gem. Taking hostage Arose’s family and the port town, she attempts to force Arose to give up the powerful amulet. Morel’s plan is to rule over the evil creatures imprisoned in the Astral Plane, unleashing them upon the rest of humanity.

While evading Morel’s henchmen Arose collides with Captain St. James a notorious pirate, whom she has already met in a vision. Leary of him at first, he gains her trust after he aids in her escape. She is knocked unconscious and wakes to find she has been had – both he and the opal gone. However, even if she recovers the opal she’ll have a bigger decision to make: keep the opal and doom her family, or give it to Morel and let the world fall into a demonic wasteland.

~excerpt~

She crouched on the ledge of a dune. The dying sun’s embers lit the sky just before the night arose.

     The previous hours of her day were difficult and tiresome. She wasn’t sure if her queasy stomach came from her boiling blood or the fact she hadn’t eaten since morning. The day’s close did give her some relief from the evil Voodoo and treachery, which followed her since that afternoon. Still her troubles would not simply end because the day did. In the guise of her alter ego, Evan, she could fool anyone. She had perfected a manly swagger. But, no matter how drunk she got in the pub, her troubles would remain. “He” would be on the hunt for her, ready to pounce, like a feral animal on his prey.

     Arose held a polished dagger up to the sunlight, to inspect the blade’s oily sheen. A jewel-encrusted fleur-delis adorned the pommel, glinted in the late evening sun. The same symbol of French royal heraldry decorated her family’s coat of arms.

     With a flick of her wrist, the perfectly balanced blade spun from her hand, flipped once, and pierced the sand between her feet. She retrieved the dagger and pursed her lips. Specks of sand flew from the swirling calligraphy of the monogram engraved on the shaft: NDM—Nessarose Du Mouchelle. The “N” made her shake her head. She preferred instead the name “Arose,” as her father called her, or even “Rosie” reserved for those who knew her well enough. Her youth had consisted of tussles with those who played on her name, giving her cruel nicknames like “Nessy” or “Pesty.” She’d grown to hate it.

     She traced the monogram with the tip of her finger and clucked her tongue when she saw the smudges left behind. Her breath came out as a steamy puff on the cold steel. Arose wiped off the droplets with her sleeve and checked the razor-fine edge for nicks.

   With a gentle whoosh, she slipped the blade back into its sheath built into her thigh-high leather boot. Swollen eyes from earlier tears prickled, tempting her fingers to rub them until their yearning was happily satisfied. She would be much happier staying in her room with a cool cloth rinsed in lavender water, but the entity invading her home made it impossible.

She had to search for the man who could help her save her family and the dragon who taught her everything. Never having met the man, seeing him only in a vision, she would know him by his aura and his scent, consisting of iron, cedar and citrus fruit and she knew his name: St. James, Captain St. James.

She crouched on the ledge of a dune. The dying sun’s embers lit the sky just before the night arose.

     The previous hours of her day were difficult and tiresome. She wasn’t sure if her queasy stomach came from her boiling blood or the fact she hadn’t eaten since morning. The day’s close did give her some relief from the evil Voodoo and treachery, which followed her since that afternoon. Still her troubles would not simply end because the day did. In the guise of her alter ego, Evan, she could fool anyone. She had perfected a manly swagger. But, no matter how drunk she got in the pub, her troubles would remain. “He” would be on the hunt for her, ready to pounce, like a feral animal on his prey.

     Arose held a polished dagger up to the sunlight, to inspect the blade’s oily sheen. A jewel-encrusted fleur-delis adorned the pommel, glinted in the late evening sun. The same symbol of French royal heraldry decorated her family’s coat of arms.

     With a flick of her wrist, the perfectly balanced blade spun from her hand, flipped once, and pierced the sand between her feet. She retrieved the dagger and pursed her lips. Specks of sand flew from the swirling calligraphy of the monogram engraved on the shaft: NDM—Nessarose Du Mouchelle. The “N” made her shake her head. She preferred instead the name “Arose,” as her father called her, or even “Rosie” reserved for those who knew her well enough. Her youth had consisted of tussles with those who played on her name, giving her cruel nicknames like “Nessy” or “Pesty.” She’d grown to hate it.

     She traced the monogram with the tip of her finger and clucked her tongue when she saw the smudges left behind. Her breath came out as a steamy puff on the cold steel. Arose wiped off the droplets with her sleeve and checked the razor-fine edge for nicks.

   With a gentle whoosh, she slipped the blade back into its sheath built into her thigh-high leather boot. Swollen eyes from earlier tears prickled, tempting her fingers to rub them until their yearning was happily satisfied. She would be much happier staying in her room with a cool cloth rinsed in lavender water, but the entity invading her home made it impossible.

She had to search for the man who could help her save her family and the dragon who taught her everything. Never having met the man, seeing him only in a vision, she would know him by his aura and his scent, consisting of iron, cedar and citrus fruit and she knew his name: St. James, Captain St. James.

About the Author

My name is Andrea. I have been spinning yarns since I was old enough to string two words together to make a sentence. I hope you enjoy reading about my debut novel Nights Arose. I loved writing it! I hope you love reading it.

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