Vindication - a historical nano tale

Hello, there!

Beautiful Sunday here in Rio, no better time for a short story, huh?

Another NANOTALE to color your day, something to amuse you. Who could tell gentlemen could also be vile and vain?...

Vindication

   Woods carried a thorn on his side, a broken heart that weighed more than Cathedral bells. He once surrendered his hopes for a happy future to a lady just to be cruelly rejected. 'Fatty,' she said, wrinkling her nose. Since then, six months prior, Woods had never stopped rummaging and dwelling upon those  words of Miss Abigail - how deranged he was, offering his hand to a lady christened as a chambermaid! - She looked at him with disdain for his lack of the cultivation of a good figure. And she said more! 'Winston, on the other hand, is athletic, swims and carries his body like an aristocrat!' 

    As if. Little did the foolish girl know that Winston was a rake, a regular for the houses of ill repute near the harbour and already booked seasons at the spa town to treat gout due to his exaggerations with the liquors. As for her, who devoted herself to little fondled nut bonbons, her middle was noticeably more elliptical. 

    Whether it was a bastard or sweets, it didn't matter to Woods, who stood in front of the mirror admiring his slim figure. Pity was the face tic of blinkeing his right eye with every two sniffles according the shock of the belt that controlled his fat and manly impulses.

twitter

*THE END*

How about Mr. Woods' efforts to get in shape, huhW

An electric belt! Really?

    Victorians, as many before and tons after, were people with special care for their figures. Science was advancing in full speed, beauty care with it. Arsenic soaps for the skin, lead nipple protectors for breastfeeding women, cocaine tonics for cough and these electric belts to burn away middle fat. Also these belts helped a lot more than that...

Illustrated Penny tales, 1894

history on the net

    We read about charlatanism whenever a medical procedure are fraudulent or simple non-tested, many refer to miraculous tonics and pills. Fala-se que charlatanismo são práticas médicas não comprovadas ou fraudulentas, muitas vezes através da venda ou aplicação de "medicamentos miraculosos". Quackery comes from the middle ages, the term derives from these medicines and itnes where sold on the streets advertised with shouts or quacks.

    Quackers frequently usued boisterous selling techinics to dupe customers such as teathrical stunts, lectures and tricks. These sellers used to jump from town to town before the scheme was discovered.  Only in 1906 did USA pass a bill for Pure Food and Medicins. Before that, lots of contamination came from the search for a cure - direct or indirectly. 

    With the beginning of 20th century came the benesse of electricity, and quackerism reached body aids. Those were a success! Most of these accessories used a slight electric corrent or ultraiolet light and, such as tonics and pills, promissed a wide range of cures and strenghtenings.

 

Belts were a must! 

Something like the magic blue pill + diet! 

    They were advertised in all forms and places, magazines, newspapers, etc. Belts could cure tiredness, impotent males, weakeness, indigestion, you name it! Some have straps, other are like sports supporter. How curious!

    Look at the ads I posted here. I can feel how much it hurts!

etsy

 And if you still want to try, you can find them on line...

Other NANOTALES are here.

see ya!

research came from aqui, aqui, aqui

Vicious Weapon - a historical nano tale

hello,

Here I am with another tiny little tale to amuse your uncertain quarantined days. It's the best I can do.

Just like the song that sticks to our brains, to ease your Level of Concern, I'm gonna tell you a gossip I heard the other day. Gossips are, almost all the time, juicy; so here it is in the form of a Victorian nanotale.

Enjoy!

Vicious Weapon

Vitorio Reggianini - The secret

Cecille, Baroness Westbrook, looked at her lover who calmly read the newspaper in the cabinet, a cigar stuck between her teeth, and sighed. There, alone with him, she was Cils and he Cici, simply.

With a nod to the butler who opened the door for her, she left thinking: En garde. 

Ten steps to disgrace, a few moments until her life was decided in the visiting room of Bominda, the Abominable Baroness. 

Cils hated that snobbish neighborhood, the white houses, the lack of privacy; she hated being recognized wherever she went, she hated even more the misfortune of having been seen treading the passageway of shame on her way out of the Albany covered walkway. 

She imagined her name in the mouth of all the ladies at the tea party where she was heading just like a culprit condemned to the scaffold. 'She ran out, did she?' and 'From the apartment building for single men?' and 'Married to the elderly Westbrook, lover of a mysterious young man!' 

The Abominable's butler took her coat and indicated the stairs, she went up hearing ghost voices in her head; she twisted her features in anger, felt her cheeks flush. ‘Late at night, in a dark cloak, but I know it was her!’ and ‘The little slut, doublecrossing the baron!’ 

The hum of female conversation stopped when she entered, her face the color of cherry. Moved by indignation, trembling fingers taking off the kid's glove on her right hand, Cils went directly to Bominda and... slap!

‘Choose your weapon.’

There was a widespread, loud and terrified gasp.

That was it, the challenge that would solve everything at once. She smiled, already victorious, looking at the shoulder of the abominable baroness. Cils was an expert hunter, she controlled a pistol like no one else. The other would never wear ample cleavages again, she would have to hide the scar in shawls.

With her hand on her face where the slap burned more in humiliation than on her skin, Bominda squinted. 'Ink and feather.' She replied, starting a new gasp across the room.

Everyone understood that it was war.

 * FIM *

 

victorian gloves, vintage. flickr

Just like  Cloistered, this nanotale is a gift to dear friends, my quanrentine companions through endless whatsapp conversations. Each one of us in her own cage, we do gossip A LOT! Cecille and Bominda come from one of these funny afternoons.

Duels were forbidden when this nanotale is set, not only in England, but many other places. Since the 18th century, actually. 

Nevertheless, there are many tales of vendettas solved on the vuming end of a pistol or bloodied point of a sword.

Between ladies, there are amazing tales of fighting undressed to the waist to avoid soiling the clothes, and the reasons were incredible: flowers, gossip, etc.

It's a great subject, every other day I get stuck researching it and this tale made me think about defending one's honour. Maybe someday it'll evolve to a novel or a cool post. Maybe both.

pinterest

For now, I invite you to appreciate this zoom meeting of the Hamilton musical cast surprising a young fan on the hot John Krasinski home show.

The musical, famous for its diverse cast much like the (dystopian) Netflix Bridgerton and Baker Street Irregulars, tells the life and glory of USA founding father Alexander Hamilton. Politian, law virtuoso, military commander, lawyer, banker and economist, he spent his life around duels. Both him and his first born son died on the result of duels. 

Lin Manuel who plays Hamilton was in Mary Poppins 2, so I'm gonna like anything he's in. Right?  Supercalifragilistespialidoso!

OTHER NANOTALES? 

Oh, yes, my dear! 

here

If you're looking for a great gift, 

check out my JOURNALS! 

ORDER NOW!

see ya,

M.

I researched here, here, here, here as well as my personal notes

Declaration - a historical nano tale

 Hello!

I've been a bit far from my blog, and I apologize for that.

Lately, I have taken a keen interest in digital marketing and the quest to achieve 10k on Instagram. - by the way, if you're not following me, I beg you to! click here and help me get the most dreamed swipe up. - Anyway, these studies helped me realize that I have to please my audience.

Duh!

So, on Instagram I'm posting mostly in Portuguese, here I'll try to post mostly in English. Does it make sense?

Fot that, I'll give you several nanotales to amuse you while I search and research stuff to please you!  

Enjoy!

Declaration

Clarence F Underwood

She could very well notice how he had said his claims in exhasperation. For a split second she had sensed all the power she had on that man and that, devilishly, made her glow - inwardly of course, a proper lady is always discreet and well behaved.

'Yes, I accept your hand in marriage, my lord.' She raised her eyebrows in response to the relieved smile on the man's face. 'But know that my feeling for you in no way clears your evil inclinations, sordid habits and dark past that-'

Lord John silenced his beautiful bride's objections with a fiery kiss.

Ver essa foto no Instagram

Uma publicação compartilhada por Royal Opera House (@royaloperahouse)

* the end *

I so loved these ballet pics from Royal Opera House, they are so romantic, so inspiring.

I composed 3 nanotales based by ballet scenes. 

* the end *

I so loved this ballet pics from Royal Opera House, they are so romantic, so inspiring.

I composed 3 nanotales based by ballet scenes. 

A second before the duel

The rake

The 19th century had famous ballerinas, especially French and Russian. Far from the ballet bubble, we are most acquainted with Degas' ballerinas.

La classe de dance, Degas 1873-76

Aside from the creepy retellings of his adorations and stalking of dancing girls, his work is absolutely lovely. I am a big fan.

I even included his ballerina statue on a REVERSED PRIDE AND PREJUDICE modern romance... 

Ver essa foto no Instagram

Uma publicação compartilhada por Moira Bianchi escritora (@moirabianchiauthor)

I do have a lovely historical romance novel about a ballerina, a short story. I'm revising and sharpening everyhting to publish it.

Leah E Moss designs

My VICTORIAN GENTLEMAN series is kinda dormant, but not for lack of plots. This everlasting quarentine had a heavy toll on me. 

But, life goes on and I will rise above! The sun always comes up, doesn't it?

dibble

See ya!

Stay safe and sane! ;)

Anyway... read my other NANOTALES here.

The rake

The 19th century had famous ballerinas, especially French and Russian. Far from the ballet bubble, we are most acquainted with Degas' ballerinas.

La classe de dance, Degas 1873-76

Aside from the creepy retellings of his adorations and stalking of dancing girls, his work is absolutely lovely. I am a big fan.

I even included his ballerina statue on a REVERSED PRIDE AND PREJUDICE modern romance... 

Ver essa foto no Instagram

Uma publicação compartilhada por Moira Bianchi escritora (@moirabianchiauthor)

I do have a lovely historical romance novel about a ballerina, a short story. I'm revising and sharpening everyhting to publish it.

Leah E Moss designs

My VICTORIAN GENTLEMAN series is kinda dormant, but not for lack of plots. This everlasting quarentine had a heavy toll on me. 

But, life goes on and I will rise above! The sun always comes up, doesn't it?

dibble

See ya!

Stay safe and sane! ;)

Anyway... read my other NANOTALES here.

Arma Perigosa - um NANOCONTO Vitoriano

Olá,
Sempre é tempo para uma historinha, né? Ainda mais nesses dias trancafiados, nada melhor que uma intriga...

Dia desses me contaram uma anedota. A trama me ficou na cabeça, rolei a ideia por um tempão até chegar aqui e daqui para frente... Me aguardem!

Arma Perigosa

Vitorio Reggianini - The secret

 

Cecille, a Baronesa Westbrook, olhou o amante calmamente lendo o jornal no gabinete, charuto preso entredentes, e suspirou. Ali ela era Cils e ele Cici, simplesmente.

Um aceno para o mordomo que lhe abria a porta e ela saiu. 

En garde, pensou. 

Dez passos para a desgraça, poucos momentos até sua vida ser decidida na saleta de visitas de Bominda, a Baronesa Abominável. Cils odiava aquela vizinhança esnobe, as casas geminadas, a falta de privacidade; odiava ser reconhecida onde quer que fosse, odiava mais ainda ter sido vista na fuga vergonhosa pelo passeio coberto do Albany. 

Imaginava seu nome na boca de todas as damas no chá para onde se encaminhava tal como condenado ao cadafalso. ‘Ela saiu correndo, foi?’ e ‘Do prédio de apartamentos para homens solteiros?’ e ‘Casada com o idoso Westbrook, amante de jovem misterioso!’ A porta da mansão vizinha abriu assim que Cils subiu os três degraus da calçada, o mordomo da Abominável tomou seu casaco e indicou as escadas, ela subiu ouvindo vozes fantasmas na cabeça; torcia as feições em raiva, sentia enrubescer as bochechas. ‘Tarde da noite, de capa escura, mas sei que foi ela!’ e ‘A safadinha, gracejando nas costas do barão!’ O zum-zum-zum de conversa feminina parou quando ela entrou, rosto da cor de cereja. Movida por indignação, dedos trêmulos descalçando a luva de pelica da mão direita, Cils se encaminhou diretamente à Bominda e slap!  

‘Escolha sua arma.’ 

Houve um arfar generalizado, alto e aterrorizado.

Pronto, tinha feito o desafio, resolveria tudo de uma vez. Sorriu já vitoriosa mirando o ombro da baronesa abominável. Cils era exímia caçadora, controlava uma pistola como ninguém. A outra nunca mais usaria decotes amplos, teia que esconder a cicatriz em xales.

Com a mão no rosto onde o tapa ardia mais na humilhação do que na pele, Bominda apertou os olhos. ‘Tinta e pena.’ Respondeu iniciando um novo arfar pela sala. 

Todas entendiam que era guerra.

 * FIM *

 

luvas vitorianas, antiguidade. flickr

Assim como Cloistered, este nanoconto é presente para amigas queridas, companheiras de loucura nessa vida engaiolada de quarentena. Cada uma em seu quadrado, vivemos trocando fofocas de nossas vizinhanças. Cecille e Bominda são fruto dessas nossas tricotagens.

Duelos eram proibidos na época desse Nanoconto, não só na Inglaterra Vitoriana, mas pelo mundo. Na verdade proibidos desde o século 18. No entanto, há relatos de vendetas resolvidas no tête-a-tête, ponta do sabre e cuspida de arma de fogo.

Entre damas, há relatos de duelos incríveis, despidas até a cintura para evitar sujar os trajes, por causa de flores e outras razões que hoje parecem infames.

É um assunto ótimo, estou presa na pesquisa desde que essa anedota me fez pensar em duelo pela defesa da honra. Dia desses faço um post bacana explicando detalhes e curiosidades.

pinterest

Por hora, te convido a se deliciar com a zoom meeting do elenco do musical Hamilton durante o bacanérrimo talk show do gato John Krasinski. O musical é famoso por ter somente atores 'não brancos' na equipe, latinos, negros, orientais, indígenas. Alexander Hamilton é um dos 'founding fathers' dos Estados Unidos. Estadista, político, estudioso das leis, comandante militar, advogado, banqueiro e economista que foi perseguido por duelos a vida toda. Tanto ele quanto seu filho primogênito morreram duelando. E Lin Manuel fez Mary Poppins 2, então ele pode tudo, né? Supercalifragilistespialidoso!

OUTROS NANOCONTOS? Tem, sim! aqui, ó!

até mais,

M.

pesquisas aqui, aqui, aqui, aqui e mais em outro post

A Victorian Romance - All those Dukes - chapter 2

Hello!
The lovely Victorian Romance, ALL THOSE DUKES, is already available and I'm posting the first two chapters here!

enjoy!

First we met Duck, the Marquess and his father, the Duke. Also a longtime thorn in his side, the difference in their appearance.
Soon after they meet - and we get to witness - a lively family of a tradesman called Johnson who has a pretty niece. Jessica Ellen is a widow dedicated to anthropometry.
Nothing much comes from their first meeting aside from a casual interest and an amusing coincidence in their lack of interest in marriage...
Now, as we dive into the story, the plot gets more serious...

Well, no. There's no Duke Ellington here. 
The Duke of Wellington is mentioned, but we do have many Dukes in this novel...

let's get to the 2nd chapter:

ALL THOSE DUKES

a Victorian men novella
read chapter 1

chapter 2

1

Unfortunately, instead of turning dark in features to look more like the father Duck adored, as he so wanted, what came was the day he met a hurtful truth: a tall, fair, handsome distant cousin had spent a long visit at their estate, Storm Grove Hall, in 1824, the year before his birth.

And what made matters worse was the occasion of discovering such a thing: the passing of his adored father, the Duke of Somerchester.
Unstoppable coughs, ever so durable tiredness, ineffective bleedings, useless cordials, all that the best surgeons in London could offer the Duke only provided the Marquess one week with his infirm father. Should he had been better advised, he would have left Spain earlier to spend the last year at home, he could have done more, taken his father abroad where the weather was warmer, so many possibilities hurting his heart that was already bruised with the regret of never inviting the Duke to Madrid because of the frown -  lips’ pursing - eye averting – exaggerated compliment ritual. 

Now it seemed irrelevant.

His father was dead, he was the new Duke and finally could face the ugly truth of his paternity.

For that, he even had started to devise a plan…

---

At the other side of town, in a comfortable townhouse, Frederica read the paper while Johnson and Ellen tried their luck with a giant jigsaw puzzle at the table by the window.

As they discussed where did a particular part of the coast of Cornwall fit, Frederica gasped loud. Stood. Cried. ‘Good Gracious!’

‘What?’ Johnson looked at his sister over his lenses that rested on the tip of his nose.

‘The Duke, such an elegant little man, could be one of my figurines over the mantle, so well attired and polite, wise too… With that beast of a Greek god of a son, bless that lad.’

‘Somerchester?’

‘Yes, Somerchester, we just met the man the other day.’

‘Eight days.’ Ellen mumbled. How could she forget? The day she had arrived in London after spending most of her life in India and France, and on arriving, was exposed to a huge shaming.

‘Dead.’

‘What?’

‘Dead, the little elegant rich Duke. Dead.’ Frederica turned the newspaper.’

‘Let me see that.’ Johnson crossed the room bumping his shin on a chair and a side table, took the paper from his sister’s hand and almost glued it to his nose.

‘What killed the Duke, aunt?’ Ellen whispered. ‘Poor man, he seemed fragile, didn’t he?’

‘He was sickened for a while, always had been if you ask me. He was a weakling.’

‘Don’t speak nonsense, Freddy.’

‘He was, brother, and you know it!’ She stomped. ‘He was our customer, bought tea and opium sometimes.’ Rushed voice. ‘But comparing to the rest of his family, he was the smaller of them all, short and dark. You saw the son, tall and strong.’

‘The duchess was a beauty, then? Have you met her?’

‘She was a handsome lady, yes. But the lad, the Marquess, he has the family blood. The weak blood from the father didn’t pass on to him.’

‘That does not make sense, aunt.’ Ellen shook her head. ‘It is the father who produces the son.’

‘With the blood from the grandfather.’ Frederica shook a finger in the air. ‘I may not have a diploma as you do, smart girl, but I do know the dealings of nature. I have watched the chickens that feed us, I observe the neighbors breed. Nature has not blessed me with children because it has given me sagacity.’

‘Amen!’

‘You jest.’

‘I do not!’

‘Here.’ Frederica moved to the mantle and chose three china figurines, delicate ladies in ball dresses. ‘The lady in white is grandfather, the lady in blue is the father and the lady in pink is the son.’ She arranged the three on the table over the half-assembled puzzle.

‘I see.’

‘The grandfather is a big man but during his life he spends his health in games and houses of ill repute.’

‘You know that of the former Duke.’

‘I suppose.’ Frederica shrugged. ‘Let us make suppositions.’

‘Fine.’

‘So, the grandfather seems strong but his blood is tainted. He passes it to his son, the father.’

Ellen shook her head. Son becomes the father… Oh, dear.

‘During his lifetime, the son is a weakling, for that he has a clean bill guided by good surgeons allowing the family excellent blood to gain strength, returning to the previous form.’ At that, she returned to the mantle and selected several other figurines to arrange behind the white lady. ‘These are the ancestral, all good blooded.’ She nodded, Ellen nodded back. ‘So, when this one, the father produces an heir, the child is blessed with the family blood.’

‘Good blood restored.’

‘Exactly!’

‘Ah, I see…’

‘Careful with these theories using the Nobledons, Freddy.’ Johnson mumbled. ‘The Dukedom of Somerchester is rich and powerful, a good client of ours.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m heading down to the office at the warehouse, surely there is something I can send for the lad. A card, perhaps.’ A moment of silent was spent in honor of the dead Duke. ‘You should come with me, Freddy, to help with etiquette and all.’

A quarter of an hour after her uncles left, the doorbell rang announcing morning visitors. Ellen should only expected callers in the afternoon since she had no close acquaintances in town, but didn’t think it odd at first, her aunt usually stayed at home in the mornings.

Even so, when the housekeeper delivered the expensive card, she was intrigued. ‘Am I well dressed, you think, Mrs. Warner?’

‘A bit Frenchy, dear.’ The housekeeper twisted her nose. ‘This fashion is… modern.’ She said as if it were something pejorative.

‘This has to be god enough until the new dresses I ordered with aunt Freddy arrive from the mantua maker.’ Ellen smoothed her skirts, inspected her face and hair on the mirror between the windows. ‘Show the Marquess in, he is too important to wait in our hallway.’

‘I will send your man servant as well. Better take care.’

Ellen could complain or say it wouldn’t be necessary, but she didn’t know what the grieving nobleman could possibly want.

‘Mrs. Dearstring.’ Duck said at the door. ‘Thank you for agreeing on seeing me without previous arrangement.’

‘Milord.’ Ellen curtseyed. ‘Allow me to pay my respects. We just read in the paper about your father, the Duke. I am horribly sorry.’ Her eyes met his, both of them could see they shared the same sentiments. ‘Barely two years since my father passed, it still feels like it was yesterday.’

‘I appreciate your words.’ He nodded with his hat and cane between his hands. ‘The last few hours have been absolutely…’

‘Heart-wrenching.’

He nodded again.

‘My uncle has left.’ She said. ‘He took my aunt to the office, to take care of pleasantries for you, actually.’

‘I know, I had someone waiting outside. I wanted to speak to you alone without calling much attention.’ 

‘Milord?’

‘May I?’ He pointed the sofa.

‘Please!’ Ellen hurriedly collected cushions to open space for the big man and sat on an opposed armchair holding them all to her chest.

‘I have come to hire your science, Mrs. Dearstring.’ Duck said. ‘Forgive me for being blunt, but my bearings are lost these last hours. My mind is filled with worries.’

‘The remembrance is vivid, rest assured I understand you perfectly.’ She waved without taking her eyes from him. ‘How can my science help you, milord? I mean, your grace.’

Duck twisted to where she waved and saw a dark skinned man, face of one who has very few friends in the world. ‘That man… He was at the restaurant when we met last week.’

‘Was he?’

‘I am sure.’ Duck turned completely to the door. ‘Please, sir, what is your name? What do you do for a living?’

‘He is called Jai, your grace, Jai Agarwal.’ Ellen answered. ‘He is my friend, works for me, with me actually. My father raised and trained him as a skilled secretary and when he passed, we were both orphaned.’

‘Your man servant follows you, is that so?’

‘He is my friend, a brother; my father’s friend.’

‘Your late husband used his services as well.’

Ellen glanced at Jai who had one of worst frowns one could get and back at the Marquess – or new Duke. She nodded. ‘How can I help you in this hour of need, your grace?’

‘Can we be left alone?’ He asked. ‘Send him away.’

‘Jai holds my total confidence.’

‘Not mine.’

‘Your grace, you came to me with some sort of request on the day of the Duke’s passing-’ She widened her eyes. ‘Something secretive, you want my scientific opinion on?...’

Duck tilted his head towards the door.

‘Jai, please give us a moment. Could you close the door and make sure no one bother us?’ To Duck, she half smiled. ‘Can I offer you tea or-’

‘No, nothing.’

‘Please, Jai?’

The man answered something Duck didn’t understand, Ellen nodded, they heard the door close and she nodded to him. 

‘No one will bother us. Jai will post guard at the door.’ 

‘Mrs. Dearstring, since the night we met at The Golden Plate, I have been thinking about you. Something you said struck me.’

Oh, no… Good thing her uncles had left or she might hear the m most charming hoarse voice expose her… So handsome…

‘Your science deals with genealogy, you said.’

‘I did say that, yes.’ She agreed with relief.

‘I need you to investigate me.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Your uncle said that you can measure people to determine genealogy.’ He extended and twisted his arms. ‘I have a suspicion of a cousin of my father who will be coming for the funeral, therefore you shall have the opportunity to find clues and guess as you please.’

‘Just one moment, your grace.’ Ellen showed him both palms. ‘I do not play a guessing game; neither do I search pieces to make them fit as jigsaw puzzle.’ She pointed the table where she had been playing with her uncle. ‘Anthropometry is a serious science, we research morphological characteristics of the human body, anthropometric measurements to identify individuals.’

‘Are you saying you answer my needs?’

‘Tell if the cousin is indeed part of your family.’

‘That is irrelevant. I am interested in my own genealogy.’

Ellen paused for a moment. ‘Identify your real genitor?’

‘Yes.’

‘Merde!’ Ellen swore in French. ‘This is insane, your grace.’

‘This doubt taints my being, Mrs. Dearstring!’ Duck stood to hold the mantle and hang his head. ‘I need to be sure that the most perfect man who lays motionless in his death bed was my real father. There couldn’t be a biggest honor in this nation, and I feel inappropriate to take his title.’

‘Resist the grief, your grace. It’s the pain talking.’

Duck turned from the mantle with such a stare that spooked Ellen. ‘You don’t know me, you cannot know.’

‘I have experienced terrible losses, I know.’ She whispered.

‘Devil take me!’ He groaned. ‘You are unable to work on such matter.’ A strong feeling of despair took him over and he could only hold in a tremor. ‘How much do I owe you for this inconvenience and your silence?’

‘I didn’t say such a thing.’ She shook her head. ‘But to determine what you ask through anthropometry; there are steps to be taken. First, I would need to… measure the Duke. That is a disgraceful thing to -’

‘Can it be done?’

‘Sure. That is how we study, in fact. Measuring cadavers.’ She finished in a whisper.

‘You are strong willed enough to do it on your own, then.’

‘I count on the assistance of Jai.’ She pointed at the door. ‘My friend who you just met and distrusted.’

‘If you vouchsafe his discretion, as I believe yours is to be gained, I can arrange opportunity for you to take these measurements tonight.’

Ellen was silent.

‘By then I shall have a contract for us to sign in the presence of my valet and your man, they should provide witness enough. You will not be able to make public any results acquired with this, even if in the end you think the payment I offer is not enough.’ Duck said. ‘I offer three thousand pounds; we can make further agreements later tonight. Will 9 in the evening be convenient?’

She could only nod and watch in astonishment as the handsome man nodded back and left without another word.

That much money for such a task!

A fortune one takes a lifetime to amass… It meant freedom, independence, means to dedicate to science, further specialization, funding for university studies!

How would she justify her absence to her uncle and aunt?

And how to conduct such an investigation without supervision of a professor?

How exciting!...

---

more details & links about this book here