Dear readers,The code for your blog:
It's day 3 and I hope you bear with me as I try to keep up with a lot of things. I hope this is up to scratch. Lately, few things seem to be.
The prompt is:
The mumble of voices stopped.
And then there was nothing until a door knock.
“Come in,” he said and the housekeeper took a frail step into view.
“Is there a problem, Mrs Parks?” he asked, because all of her short, round frame was a little more bemused than he would have thought was ordinary.
“There is a girl, Mr Wilding.”
“Isn’t there always?” came from him in dramatic truth.
She was unphased by his humour though. “She insists on being employed here. I explained to her that she was late for...”
“Bring her in.”
As if she could have misheard him from so close.
He nodded and turned more fully to face her. “I’m curious... What kind of creature would insist on working here?”
Without voicing her obvious confusion, Mrs Parks ushered the girl in. When she had left, the creaking, closing door seemed to have shut out more than the view of the unlit corridor.
The girl concerned was ramrod straight. She was trying her utmost best to look unaffected but there were only two tallow candles to light up the outsized space, it was almost two in the morning, and only the two of them were in this study.
Highly unconventional a setting to meet under, one would have agreed.
Then she spoke.
And it was like... music?
Damndest thing, that.
He’d never been much of a lover either (well, not of music).