Chapter XI
It was Bleak, Black, and so Victorian
The weeks passed by slowly, the late heat of the summer having long since ended, and now the nights were once again gloomy and chilly. The fireplaces in our house all had fires blazing in them at some point of the day, giving the house a cozy warmth, though the ones in the bedrooms usually weren’t lit until the evening hours. Often the weather outside was cold and drizzly, and on many of these days the London sky became a thick and brownish grey and the outside air smelt awful. They called it smoggy fog. It settled upon us in Hackney like a dirty veil. With most houses in the London area having several if not many fireplaces within their walls it was no wonder, even to me, a dog, that the air would become polluted. The chimneys chugged out smoke from the fires lit below, but on foggy days the smutty smoke struggled to become one with the sky, and a tell-tale coating of sooty smuts would be dusted about the rooftops, and just about everywhere else as well.
As winter beckoned, there were times when it rained and everything outside seemed to have a grimy coating of oily soot, which would not come off one’s clothes, or white paws, so easily. To my own astonishment, the rain was actually dirty, something I’d never before encountered. Even the lush, green grass would become dark and grimy, and the trees and flowers were dark and depressed-looking from the coating of the filthy rain. Other times it became foggy, and at these times it was so thick you couldn’t see across the street, the lamps appearing to be but a dim, disembodied glow, and the air would smell foul and repugnant. These strange fogs were commonly known as pea-soupers. Jessie referred to them as Purgatory. During a pea-souper, ordinary sounds such as hoof beats upon cobbles, or my own voice emitted as a bark, sounded eerily distorted, so they were an excuse for all Londoners to remain within the cosy confines of their homes and to cancel their evening’s plans.
Everyone burnt coal, and I mean everyone. London town and its area thrived on coal. Every house had either a coal shed or a coal cellar, and the housemaids carried the coal throughout the houses in shiny coal-scuttles, and lit coal fires out of those black and dusty lumps and nubbles. We could not survive without it, and I marvelled at the amount our house burnt on a weekly basis, never mind the endless trips our maid-of-all did, carrying the heavy scuttle from room to room, to ensure there was always a plentiful supply of coal on hand.
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Chapter XII
Mr Peppermint and a Dog with a Job
All was quiet outside the house. It was all a hush; there was no one calling my name. I found I had not been missed, and felt pleasingly refreshed after that little bit of exercise. I licked my front paws clean until they gleamed pure white, thus removing any traces of dirt and other evidence of my escapade. I gave myself a good shake in order to dislodge any signs of twigs or brick dust clinging to my back. I stared at the gaping hole where the leafy branches of the hedge had been broken and pushed aside, and I hoped it would not be noticed. I knew that in the future I would have to be careful to not get caught. I could not risk discovery. In other words, to prevent my being found missing from the garden, future excursions would have to be short ones, but besides that I would have to be careful when crossing the streets and roads. They, especially Mare Street, were busy and dangerous because of the many cabs and other traffic such as omnibuses and delivery wagons, many of which travelled up and down them non-stop. And besides, how would I ever explain coming into the house with a broken leg or a crushed foot, when I had simply been sent outside to do my looing?
One spring night, when Edmund and Augustus had just returned from their gentlemen’s club somewhat earlier than was usual, an announcement was made. Augustus took the centre of the room and told the female population to hush, pointed to me, and then told Charles, his daughters, and Maud, that I had become somewhat infamous. He related to us that a particular gentleman who lived on Mare Street, in one of those old mansions, was also a member of his club, and the gentleman had commented to him just that very night about the dog, which he knew to belong to Augustus, had been seen to make regular journeys up and down his street, and usually in the morning hours. Augustus, not at first believing this gentleman, then had had to accept the man’s word when the unmistakable black collar with the shiny brass nameplate was described to him, as well as the dog’s amiable nature and white eyebrows.
When I heard this being revealed to the four walls of the house, I felt my cheeks begin to burn, and I am sure they had a scarlet glow to them. Even my ears felt hot! Oh, what shame! I had been caught. The dismay I felt was akin to the floor being snatched from beneath my feet. I had a good idea of who had told on me. He did! It was Mr Peppermint! The gentleman at the club must have been that nice elderly man I sometimes encountered, who called me by my name, and who usually gave me an innocent peppermint, pulled from a small paper bag and offered with an ageing, feeble, shaking hand. On more than one occasion the feeble Mr Peppermint had by accident dropped a sweet onto the pavement, which I quickly snatched up – giving me a tally of two mints. Thus, I always associated him with peppermints; hence his name.
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You have just read about four pages, chosen from two chapters, of Forever Shales. This is an historical novel written for adults, or older teens, but is uniquely written from a dog’s point of view. It is set in Victorian England and is about 472 pages in length. One can purchase copies from Leesa at Our Mother’s Keepers on Water Street, Windsor, NS, or online from Amazon or Melrose Books (see above links).
It just had a nice write-up in the Hants Journal.
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