By Wit & Whitby - Streets, Yards, and Homes

Grounding

Thu, 05 Mar 2026 21:26:47 +0000

She had been bid to stop working, not just because of her vroken hand but because the servants seemed to happily helped to facilitate the relationship. She was bored without work and she took to wandering the garden. Nobody stopped her from finding joy in gardening. She was given a pair of gloves but only used the one for it's first forray. She was kneeling in the grass, her good hand, sans the glove, touched the earth, finding peace in the quiet solitude.

Night terror

Sat, 06 Sep 2025 10:59:52 +0000

[CW: Violence]

The tiled roofs began to patter, softly at first, then louder, as the cold drizzle gave way to cold rain. It wet the paving slabs along the main street below and puddled in the road, cooling the air and sending a fresh breeze into the surrounding network of dark and narrow lanes, yards and ghauts. As it brushed by the barely distinguishable figure of a man on the ground, it roused him a little – enough remind him, briefly, that he should get out of here; not enough to get him to actually move. It would be some time before the rain got him. The alley was too narrow for the drops to touch him were he lay. They would slowly work their way down along the brick walls or find a quicker path down a drain pipe and run away along a narrow ditch. There was already something wet under his hip, but then again, the alley did stink of urine. Whether it had been there when he fell or whether he had lost control of his own bladder, he couldn’t remember. Nor did he care much.

It was the kind of slum alley that a gentleman had no business finding himself in, much less so after dark. But here Tristan lay, curled up on the cold, dirty pavement, still unable to get up. It wasn’t the pain. Not the black eye, the bust lip, the pain in his head, his ribs, his stomach, his legs. It was there, but hardly it registered. It could have been somebody else’s. He still lay there because despite the dropping temperature and the threat of rain, he had to protect his vital organs from more kicks and punches. All was quiet around him except for the vague pitter-patter above, but Tristan’s arms still covered his head. His legs were still drawn up to his chest. Protect the vital organs!

Momma, I love him

Thu, 24 Jul 2025 17:37:19 +0000

The inevitable had happened and there was no real surprise why. Ruth had spent countless days and nights now bringing the life back to Edward, his eyes warm again... she dedicated herself to getting him to eat and sleep and tried not to love him.

But she did... she loved him very much. She could no sooner stop herself from doing so than anyone else in her shoes.

She was slowly dusting to have a think. Her mother and father would probably find disappointment in her yet again and the idea hurt but she would accept that yoke and take accountability. She was so tired of looking for the one when her person was Edward Blackwood.

Sisterhood

Fri, 18 Jul 2025 15:31:56 +0000

"Bill, Dear I'm confused." Lottie asked brushing her apron, adjusting the third mug for tea. "Who is this woman again, and why is she coming to my house?"

Lottie was not averse to guests, she had just accepted that her front door was permanently open these days, the house bursting at the seams, but Bill had been so casual, so flippant, so offhand about this guest. There had been lots of moustache twitching when this was broached.

Don't Rock the Boat

Wed, 16 Jul 2025 20:37:17 +0000

Her brother actually courting? A woman, at that? Could it be that Norman had finally stopped playing with his boats and actually turned his mind to matrimony? Well, she’d be glad for it. Norman was an odd fellow, always had been. When he was young it had provoked doting chuckles. As he grew older it had frustrated his father. But now that he was a man, it was concerning. She had often wondered if Norman would be in a job at all if it hadn’t been for Hugo’s kindness. Oh yes, she would be happy to finally see him settled. A sensible woman would soon smooth out Norman’s oddities and steer him safely into the harbour of respectability (more likely if one put it to him in those terms).

Norman hadn’t given her much information about this Miss MacKenzie in his letter, but the name had a proper ring to it and Winnifred was eager to make a good impression. In her mind she had already made out that Miss MacKenzie came from a good family, was well connected and very well brought up. Just the sort of person Winnie would like to have as a sister-in-law and friend.

And so, as Winnie went to answer the door, one of the overworked maids was crying in the kitchen, the other was trying to come up with what to put in her resignation letter, and the table looked immaculate.

“Norman!” Winnie said warmly when she had opened the door. She kissed her brother’s cheek. “Oh. But where is Miss MacKenzie?”

Spectres

Sat, 21 Jun 2025 12:27:37 +0000

Quote:We need to talk, but not right now. I have done you a disservice and wish to make it better. I don't think I can, but I would do whatever you ask if it makes it right with you. Please take these coins, hold on to them, and wait for me to summon you. All will be explained the way you deserve it.

All night the words of Andrew’s short message like ghosts had rattled her to near insanity. Countless scenarios had materialized and dematerialized within her sleepless mind, each more dreadful than the last. She went to bed more than once that night, but each time she only found herself tossing and turning, until the mere approach of slumber unleased the worst of her imagination: ominous divinations of meaning, doomed prophecies, ghastly and terrifying like gargoyles, that preyed and feasted on her feverish mind, until she would sit up resolutely, toss the damp blanket aside and light her bedside lamp in an attempt to dispel them. They dispersed, but sat waiting for her in darkness and slumber, just outside the circle of light.

She would get out of bed to rouse herself. Start pacing. It couldn’t be quite so bad. Wasn’t quite so bad. Stopping at every real or imagined noise to listen for the turn of a key, the door opening downstairs, Andrew’s heavy footfalls, his distinct pattern of breathing. At one point, she could even make out the scent of his skin. But each time she stood at the top of the stairs and raised her lamp high to peer into the shadowy room below, she found it undisturbed but for the shadows that danced under the flicker of her lamp. It was only her mind playing tricks. Pacing again. Free hand pressing her bosom. Learning to distinguish the creaking of the floorboard under her feet from imagined returns. Running the cryptic words through her mind, over and over. Then picking up the letter again, holding it close to the lamp, prying each word apart for some inkling of Andrew’s meaning.

What disservice had he done her? Was it his persistent neglect of her that he was speaking of? Or had he been unfaithful? ‘Surely not so soon,’ her waking mind deflected, while slumber-spectres flaunted the young, pretty assistant Andrew had been teaching a little too hands-on for her liking and conjured up more explicit images still. Or had he fallen in with the wrong crowd and gotten himself into some kind of trouble? Was he being threatened or blackmailed? Had he committed some crime and was he now a fugitive? What if he had killed someone? Slumber had remembered what had never been truly laid to rest. Cold sweats had followed. Nausea and tears and helplessness. How was she to bear it a second time?

And yet there was something else too filling her eyes with tears, as she peered and pried once again into the depths behind each word. He spoke as if he still loved her. There was such respect and consideration for her in his words. All these weeks, nay, months now, she had felt so unloved, so unseen. But Andrew cared about her!

What a terrible time for him to be hanged.

Shortly before dawn, she broke, sinking onto the floor in desperate sobs. Her gasps resonated throughout the quiet house. It had been quiet for so very long. Why was Andrew doing this to her? Why had he kept secrets for so long? She had made her mistakes, but why had he punished her with silence so relentlessly? Why did he torment her with such an ominous message now? Where had he gone? What was going to happen now? What would become of her? Surely she could not live through another heartbreak? Why was she only ever allowed a few fleeting moments of happiness before disaster struck? How she wished she could rip her heart out and continue to live without it! Cold, unfeeling people surely didn’t hurt so much? Much better to have never known love, to have never seen the traces of true joy in her life, to have never felt the warmth of hope in her breast at each recognition, than to know what was lost. How could she bear it?

By the time the sun rose, she had recovered and had washed her face and dressed. She was a Ward woman, before she was Mrs. Willaby, bred and raised to endure hardship and rise above it, as so many women in her family had done before her. Her face was still pale and puffy and her heart was breaking, but she would not succumb to despair, much less to self-pity. A solution would simply need to be found to whatever the problem was. Then this too could and would be borne.

But she needed someone to talk to. She never spoke of personal matters to Maggie, and Anne was too young to understand these matters. She’d rather die than involve her father. That crossed off any other Whitby woman in her family, as she couldn’t trust them to keep it from him. What she needed was a friend - one who wouldn’t gossip or judge her.

Pearl.

Pearl had no ties to her community. Pearl didn’t judge, for she knew all too personally how it felt to be judged. Pearl was happily married; that was the one hurdle, for in the past months, Rose had discovered within her own heart short flare-ups of jealousy over her friend’s happiness. But this was a small matter now. She longed for her friend and if she stayed in her own mind now, she would surely go mad.

And so she put on her coat and hat like it was a normal day, pocketed the message, and made her way over to the Blackes’ home on Oswy street, taking the long way round to avoid the harbour. Once she reached the door, she paused for a second to take a deep breath and repress her surging emotions. Then she knocked.

Tying up loose ends

Tue, 15 Apr 2025 17:44:56 +0000

William had been running around most of whitby. He had spent all morning dropping off paperwork to the men who would be sailing with him to the East Coast Colonys in Africa.

His uniform was pristine. Alot of people noted him as he walked the streets of the crags and even a couple gave insults as they served with a rival regiment but soon he would be out the uniform of the West Yorkshires and back with the Middlesex Volunteers. Back in hodden grey. He walked the streets before coming to the house he knew was that of John Blacks Parents. He walked up to the front door and knocked. The door was shortly answered

William Spoke "Good Afternoon. My name is Captain William St Claire. Officer commanding the Whitby Company attached to the West Yorkshire Regiment. Is Company Sargeant Major Black home?"

Love?

Fri, 11 Apr 2025 01:02:54 +0000

She was resting, her yawn was heavy as she let herself relax. Octavia was stretched out over top of the duvet that covered the bed she shared with the man who took her from the brothel. She had cleaned the apartment from top to bottom, adding feminine touches to the decor in his bachelor's home. The daughter of the Laird of the Kincaid clan was thankful that her lover had taken her from the brothel... She wasn't a whore, nor did she want to be one. She would have been had he not intercepted her. He did pay for her, but she saw none of that money because she did not want it, she wanted her freedom more.

Her mouth curled upward as she pictured the way they carried on under the spray of the shower. A delicious shiver slid up her spine. Hopefully he would appreciate what she had done with their home, her trunk was empty of the few things she afforded herself including the quilt that draped over one of the chairs, some late blooms in a chipped vase that had belonged to her grandmother, and various little things here and there that did a lot to make her feel less alien.

She fell asleep waiting for his shift to be over, hugging his pillow to her in order to smell his scent.

A baby or three

Fri, 10 Jan 2025 22:52:16 +0000

Pearl was not feeling well.. she had kept to herself for that reason as she fought a bugger of the augh, a cold. She sniffled putifully into a handkerchief as she debated on asking for help to get a hot bath to sooth her muscles that ached and help rid her of it sooner. For the momrnt, however, she was not moving.

She fell asleep without even realizing it.

Pass the Salt and make the tea

Mon, 25 Nov 2024 20:33:23 +0000

CW - anger issues and other junk, sexual themes, sexism

Magnus sat in the dining room and murmured to Tilly, his eyes blazing with anger, "I need you to gather the rest of my daughter's belongings so we can make room for Miss Ruth, and I need you to bring it here and put it in her old room. If she wants it, she must come here. Heads will roll if she disturbs Miss Ruth. That girl needs to face her family after her disgraceful behavior. Now go." Tilly backed away and gave a curtsy before taking herself away. The chit had the nerve to look over her shoulder and sneer at him after he let her be. She was lucky he didn't fire her for not letting him fuck her.

He then snapped at the butler and barked out, "Serve the food. Fuck being polite anymore. I am tired of waiting for my stupid wife and ingrates for children. Let them eat cold food." And the man scurried away. He was in a foul mood and taking it out on everyone.

He had just received a report about his grandchildren being legally somebody else's, but then, the mother had been in the brothel so she could have gotten pregnant by anybody.

As food appeared on the table, he had them move all but one set of plates to the other side of the table from him. Ruth had her place next to him. He started to think about fucking her again and his mood brightened a little, his trousers getting tight in the crotch all of a sudden. Anne was lucky he was civilized enough not to sweep the plates off of the table to do the deed. She was going to be angry. The thought of her ire only made him want to do it anyway. He was daydreaming about it as he thoughtfully cut into his chicken.

Sweet Sixteen

Mon, 04 Nov 2024 23:46:54 +0000

The Robin staggered through the narrow passageways of the Cragg, his satchel laden with correspondence. He silently cursed his lot, why did these folks need post anyways? t's not like many of them could read.

Still, it was his job to get letters and bills to the correct persons in this hodgepodge of houses. He knew many of the families here by heart: there were the Smiths on the east end, the Smiths on the west end, the Russells with pies so sweet, and the Derricks they lived here too.

Then there were the Wards.

In the opinion of this humble civil servant of Her Majesty's Royal Mail, old man Ward was a sour old bastard in both odour and temperament. His daughter was pleasant enough, the one with the wild ginger hair. She was the one who quietly took the post from his hand. Compare her to the grumbling or the shower of spittle. For that family it was mostly bills..

Today would be different. He had a package to deliver to the Wards. Getting rid of it would lighten his burden considerably. Wrapped in brown paper and twine, it had the feel of something soft and was addressed to Anne Ward. There was no sender, rather a middle aged woman stopped him and asked "would ye mind? if yer goin' that way anyway..."

The two extra shillings jangling in his pocket was proof that he did not if fact mind at all.

Demons of the past

Sun, 22 Sep 2024 19:55:12 +0000

James had crashed out fairly early tonight. He hadn't been to the pub for a few days due to lack of money and it was beginning to show. He had fallen into a deep sleep when the nightmares began. He could hear the screams, the crackling of the fire. He could smell the burning flesh as vividly as the day it took place.

He woke up with a startle and sat up right in bed. The kids were both asleep and so was Maggie. His body pulled in sweat so he decided to get up and get some air. He tucked Maggie back in to keep her warm as he slipped on some clothes. Nothing fancy. Just pair of trousers. A collarless shirt and a seafarers knitted jumper before heading downstairs.

He entered the kitchen and poured himself a cup of water before sitting down on the back door step breathing in the night air and watching the stars. It was peaceful.

Nothing is certain

Tue, 09 Jul 2024 18:36:51 +0000

She sat in the garden of the manse. It had been a long night for her, between the soiree and Nate, everything was so discombobulated within her. She was conflicted. And there too was the fact her brother wanted to choose a man for her... Absolutely not a man she wanted nor felt the least bit attracted to. She was attracted to Nate more than she cared to be. She hated that she liked him as much as she did, considering the marriage was meant to be in name more than anything. In fact, she was more fond of him every time she saw him.

Amelia stood from the bench and wandered the path the gardeners had lain out, a winding and almost natural path through a rather large and natural lawn as opposed to the manicured grounds she had seen elsewhere. She wasn't sure if she even wanted to keep this up any longer, or if she should call the marriage off. She could have money or she could have peace... She couldn't have peace with Nate, there would always be sparks every time she laid eyes on him and that frightened her.

She sighed and walked to the house this time, going in and moving herself to the study where she yanked out some paper and a pen, and she began to write...

"Mister Appleton," she started strictly formally with this one when she rather liked his name. "I regret to inform you that I think we should reconsider this marriage before we..." She muttered a few oaths that would make her dear brother balk at her, and then crossed that out. "To whom it may con... No, don't be a ninny." Scratch, scratch. "To the Venerable Nate Appleton! Ugh." She crumpled the paper up and chucked it into the cold hearth.

She got up and paced, "I think we are making an error... I think I cannot marry you... I think I should just forget the fortune and marry the mousy man my brother picked just to keep the peace.... At least Alex cares enough to help, that is more than father ever did."

Freedom and it's costs

Fri, 14 Jun 2024 23:25:35 +0000

Ruth had pocketed the letter after reading it at home the night before. She'd penned a letter to the gazzette and secreted it there, and now she was approaching her childhood home with a lump in her throat. She could make out the sound of her son laughing while Pearl took care of him; she would not intterrupt that play time and nor was she coming to pick him up since Pearl was quite smitten with Jacob.

She quietly walked in through the front door and greeted her sister in law with a soft nod, then asked gruffly, "Ma?"

Seeing the expression on Ruth's face, she pointed toward the kitchen and said, "Yes, she is home working on supper now. Are you quite alright, Ruth?" She gave a soft nod, and then a strained smile. Knowing that expression all to well, Pearl stood and brought the boy over to give his mother love for a moment.

Once she was done, she moved to the kitchen in search of Lottie, wanting to catch her before her father got home because he was going to be angry at Angus as soon as he got the story. She needed to be able to speak to her mother about it first and get it off of her chest.

Butterfly

Wed, 12 Jun 2024 17:02:17 +0000

Pearl loved her new family so very much that sometimes she had to pinch herself in order to figure out if she was dreaming or if she was in reality. She slipped into the back door of the house after a quiet meeting with Doctor Witaker who said that she was carrying a baby for certain. It was with a mixture of nervousness and excitement that she moved to put the kettle on right away.

The house was quiet for the moment, she wondered if Ma was off to market since it seemed about the time that things would happen, and the day. She moved about the kitchen comfortably. She wanted to tell ma the secret before Joe but Joe deserved to know first... There was so much to think about!

A few things were procured from the stash of food she finally wittled down so spoilage wouldn't be an issue... after all, her little house had been stocked with a full pantry and larder. She still had to go back and get her last few things but her father had moved a woman in there and told her to work around her and don't say a word. Fine by her... But she would take those items and start slicing into the soft bread she had made that morning.

She smeared marmalade all over one piece of bread and started to hum softly, only interrupted by licking off the blob that hit the back of her hand since nobody was there to see her indulge in such an activity. She felt the little one flutter in that slight way that new little bean tickled. She set the knife down and gave a soft laugh and said to the unborn wee one, "I hope that I can do better for you than my father did..." And then emotion washed over her, so she worked on assembling a rather odd concoction of a sandwich... orange marmalade, butter, onion, and pickled carrot.