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Author Topic: Reading request - a chapter of pseudo-Vicwardiana  (Read 1426 times)
Fairley B. Strange
Zeppelin Overlord
Australia Australia

Relax, I've done much dumber things and survived..

« on: June 25, 2014, 09:09:14 am »

Well, as a break from too much work-related scribbling, I managed to finish off the last chapter of one of the eternally ongoing novels.

It's more first-person pseudo-Vicwardian erotica than a strictly defined SP (i.e. there are no coal-fired dirigibles etc in this chapter), but it does foreshadow many of the supporting characters I use in the next few unfinished tomes that are more specifically SP. As the final chapter, it's relatively light on 'action' and manages to avoid any outright profanity, so it should be SFW if not completely G-rated.

I would appreciate any feedback - particularly as to whether I've got an authentic tone or 'voice' for the narrator.

Thanks in advance,

Title:    Of Strange Treatments                     Words: 1 250+
Subtitle: The history of a Medical Practitioner in the Realm of HIM Victoria Regina

Chapter XX – Epilogue

I have garnered from my limited reading of works of erotic literature that the final chapter invariably concludes by dealing with all the moral and matrimonial issues that have arisen with a peculiar form of neatness. The virtuous but down-trodden heroine, who has been most cruelly used by both the sundry misfortunes of circumstance and the rampant organs of disreputable men, is rescued by some titled gallant to a life of domestic tranquillity; the ne’er-do-wells and cads are punished for their crimes, either by the Courts of Law and imprisonment, or by the Higher Judge with the pox and the mad-house; and thus all is set at right with the world and a sound moral fable is taught to all who read such books.

This, however, has been a work of autobiography, or perhaps a history of a small and otherwise unremarkable couple living and practicing at one address in one of the myriad of streets in the great metropolis. Thus it is a record of lives in particular, and a small part of Life in general, where endings are never as clearly defined, or as exemplary, as the conclusions of their fictional counterparts.

After the requisite years of lectures, studies, dissections, examinations, and Grand-Rounds, my sweet Connie graduated to become Dr Constance Williams M.D. (Lon), and a week later – after much negotiation over wishing to practice under the name upon her sheepskin – at her Uncle’s Methodist Chapel in Croydon, she consented at last to become Dr Mrs Walter Williams-Turner M.D. We have continued ever since in joint practice at our little rooms at 221D, and have somehow in our busy schedules been blessed with two delightful daughters, who, when they are well-behaved are regarded as a credit to their father, but when they misbehave are regarded – without any shred of supporting medical evidence – as probably being the admixture of their dear mother’s wilfulness and the quirks of their ‘Uncle Fairley’.

Seven winters ago Lord *** contracted recurring pneumonia and, with his dutifully attendant wife at his side, has taken to Italy for the warmer Mediterranean climes where one may convalesce and presumably encounter smooth-limbed young chaps without the deleterious necessity of ‘cottaging’ around the darker corners of London’s Parks in such inclement weather.

Lady Jane ******, in the absence of her friend, did attempt to keep the regular calendar of ‘intimate social gatherings’ and ‘country weekends’ going, but despite the attendance of the regular circle, we all remarked that it was somehow not the same spirit without Lady Deborah’s inspiring presence, and after a year or so, with Connie’s studies and the increased workload at my practice in her absence increasingly occupying our time, we gradually found ourselves politely declining those embossed invitations that she still keeps neatly wrapped in the drawer beside her scrapbook. A number of those same ladies we first met at those elegant orgies still continue to attend our practice for treatments, and from their discreet conversation, we presume the events, or similar soirees, are still attended by some.

Miss Emmaline *****, or the brave and remarkable young lady whose real name will now be apparent to anyone who reads the news, had recently risen to become the first lady appointed as Assistant Scientific Adviser at Waltham and was tragically killed in endeavouring to make safe an infernal device in a Police Station. The outrage of the community at her loss was such that the Fenians, Anarchists, and Suffragettes all attempted to publicly disown whoever was the perpetrator of that travesty. In consultation with all those of our circle who knew her, both professionally and intimately, I have recorded herein her part in our history, not to bring her any undeserved approbium, but because we all adjudged it would be as fitting a tribute to her spirit to record this joyous aspect of her life as fully as the Times’ obituary captured the nobility of her service to the Nation.

Sergeant Strange was posted from Waltham to Colonial Service after this incident, serving principally in the Levant and the Frontier Territories for a number of years, garnering promotion and a number of those decorative metallic accolades our Sovereign pins upon her more courageous or exemplary servants. He will presumably record some of those tales, whether true or slightly exaggerated, at a later date.

He has since returned to London, and is lately at the Tower of London - “like all famous criminals”, he comments with his characteristic humour - although it is also the Headquarters of the Board of Ordnance. We regularly meet socially, often dining and otherwise entertaining in concert with his latest lady-friends, and have thus heard from him that Colonel ***-*** has recently retired from being his commanding officer and has returned, perhaps appropriately considering his preference, to the Isle of Man.

Sir Robert ****, is still Dean of Medicine at the un-named University. His anonymity is preserved by the gratifying fact that all the London colleges now routinely admit ladies to their medical degrees. Two months after her graduation, on our return from a delayed honeymoon on Jersey, Connie and I visited him in his chambers so she could thank him. I must admit that I was as surprised as he was when her expression of gratitude was simply to lie down across his desk, lifting her skirts, with her intent plain even without words. After looking at her, then at myself, who shrugged and settled back in my chair to watch the show, he swiftly dropped his trousers and gave her the filling he had been pining for at the parties we all attended through those early years of her tuition. Now, however, she was no longer his student submitting in subservience to him as her Master, this was a gift freely given. Medicine almost lost one of its greatest teachers that day, the old goat nearly expiring in apoplexy. We still meet he and his wife at alumni dinners.

Lady Gwendoline ***, now with even more etcetera than her mother, is still the darling wife of her gallant husband, the widely renowned gentleman and acclaimed reformist Parliamentarian who seems almost indefatiguable in his political efforts; and of the illustrated ladies magazines and social gossip set who chronicle her life in the minutest detail. She ceased being my patient that first season as soon as her wedding was announced, and with our withdrawal from Lady Jane’s invitations perhaps two years later, we no longer travelled in the same social circles; but Connie continued to add a number of illustrated articles regarding her from the press to her scrapbook. Last year she returned to become Connie’s patient again, who manages to treat her condition with the regular aids, not requiring the special additions of her mother. Her children are depicted in the Journals as a delightful little group, exemplifying all of their mother’s finest qualities and, I hear from Connie during their conversations, also those of a carefully selected coterie of the nation’s most intelligent and well-endowed gentlemen. Such is the common burden of wives with politically unflagging husbands, as the sound medical treatment we prescribe can be a remedy for all its aspects bar childlessness. I have independently observed that one of her girls appears to have Fairley’s distinctive nose, which may make her future years most interesting to follow if she has inherited any of his other qualities.

Such is Life. There are no neat endings or simple lessons, it simply continues apace, and we shall continue along with it.

   *   *   *
« Last Edit: June 25, 2014, 09:15:25 am by Fairley B. Strange » Logged

Choose a code to live by, die by it if you have to.
Zeppelin Captain
Australia Australia

Cthulhu ftaghn!

« Reply #1 on: June 25, 2014, 02:42:03 pm »

I like this, the narrator has a strong, genre savvy voice and personality.


'Invoked or not, the gods will be present.'

-The Oracle of Delphi
Fairley B. Strange
Zeppelin Overlord
Australia Australia

Relax, I've done much dumber things and survived..

« Reply #2 on: July 24, 2014, 09:51:49 pm »

Thanks Kieran.

Well, its been up for a month and now I don't know whether the general response is due to stunned awe or somnolescence.
As it was my only serious experiment in using first-person voice, I think I'll go back to third-person for the rest of the series and test again later.
United States United States

« Reply #3 on: July 25, 2014, 03:52:55 am »

Likes it. I've seen people referred to as C____ for example. And now I know a new word...Vicwardia...Wink
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