Of Night And Dark Obscurity
Nicola Italia
Copyright © Nicola Italia
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means whatsoever without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please refer all pertinent questions to the author.
https://Nicolaitalia.com
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ASIN: B07Z8NJZ34
Contents
Of Night And Dark Obscurity
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Excerpt
Also by Nicola Italia
The Sheik and the Slave
The Tea Plantation
The Sheik’s Son
The Reign of Love and Chaos
Love in the Valley of the Kings
The Three Graces
The Boston Girl
Seasons of Love
The Vaudeville Star
The Beauty of St. Kilda
The Savannah Stargazer
The Alchemy of Night
Sea of Revenge
AUTHOR’S NOTE
My fourteenth novel, Of Night and Dark Obscurity, takes place in 1880 London the late Victorian era.
In the novel, Doctor Barton tries to cure female hysteria with massage and stimulation. These practices did exist and many other “cures” were tried during this time including icy cold showers.
Opium was rampant in the late Victorian era and medicines of this time included arsenic, opium and morphine. It wasn’t until people starting dying that they eventually outlawed them.
The heroine Caroline Derry was loosely based on Octavia Hill. Hill was a social reformer living in London who was concerned about the welfare of working people. The Horace Street Trust, founded by Hill, became a model for many subsequent housing associations and developed into the present trust that bears her name, Octavia Housing.
As always, I try to keep the historical accuracy intact while providing a story for readers to enjoy.
An Invite, To Eternity
by John Clare (1793-1864)
Wilt thou go with me, sweet maid,
Say, maiden, wilt thou go with me
Through the valley-depths of shade,
Of night and dark obscurity;
Where the path has lost its way,
Where the sun forgets the day,
Where there's nor life nor light to see,
Sweet maiden, wilt thou go with me!
Where stones will turn to flooding streams,
Where plains will rise like ocean waves,
Where life will fade like visioned dreams
And mountains darken into caves,
Say, maiden, wilt thou go with me
Through this sad non-identity,
Where parents live and are forgot,
And sisters live and know us not!
Say, maiden; wilt thou go with me
In this strange death of life to be,
To live in death and be the same,
Without this life or home or name,
At once to be and not to be -
That was and is not -yet to see
Things pass like shadows, and the sky
Above, below, around us lie?
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Sincerest thanks to my editor Katrina Fair for her assistance in reviewing my novel.
I would like to give a special thanks to Eddi Keller and Annmarie Morales for casting a final eye over my manuscript.
London, England
1880
Chapter 1
The fog filled with the crisp Autumn air. He watched her elegant gait as she moved in front of him. Her long black hair fell down her back and it contrasted sharply with the emerald green color of the woolen coat she wore.
She turned slowly and looked over her shoulder at him. His heart filled at the sight of her brown eyes and her smile.
“Aida.” He said softly.
She smiled back at him.
He reached out to touch her but in a second she vanished into the fog. His blue eyes scanned the horizon between the trees and the brush, but he made a small circle turning about and there was no one there. He was quite alone. She was gone.
The fog hung heavily in the air and he felt choked by it. Suffocated by it. He called her name once but it only seemed to echo in the loneliness of the green expanse of Hyde Park.
He felt a sickness in his gut as he watched the fog thicken and the sky darken. His black wool coat was warm but he felt the beads of sweat form on his brow. He took a step forward and called her name once more. This time he said it much louder and with force. A scream filled the air and he gave a start.
He began running toward the sound, the fog swirled about him even as he cut through it. He was almost blinded by the thick of it and stumbled on something but kept moving. He saw something on the ground just before him and realized it was a green piece of fabric.
He picked it up and recognized it as the green coat that Aida had been wearing. His heart pounded in his chest as he saw deep, red blood that stained the coat. Blood.
“Aida!” He yelled into the fog. “Aida!”
Valentine jerked awake at that moment. His eyes adjusted to the dark room that was his own. He guessed it must be early morning as the grey light filtered into the cold room. The logs placed in the fire before he had retired had long since burned down into embers. He pulled the blankets around his shoulders and gazed into the room staring at nothing in particular.
Aida.
He closed his eyes and then opened them again. He had not dreamed about her in several weeks so this dream had been jarring and disturbing. This time there had been blood and that had not been at all the way she had died.
Aida.
He recalled her long black hair and warm brown eyes and her smile. She had been so full of life. He had been prepared and ready to spend his life with her. He would have made her his wife and she would have been the mother of his children. Instead everything had changed. He laid back upon the bed.
But there had been no wedding. No honeymoon. No night spent making memories, and a lifetime spent with love and affection building a foundation of a home. No. They would never be anything because Aida was no more. Aida was dead.
✽✽✽
Caroline Derry listened as her sister Irene prattled on about a farce she had seen by the dramatist James Albery called The Pink Dominos at the New Royalty Theatre with her friend Nell Lewis. Irene was telling the premise of the farce to her sister and her sister’s friend Prudence while they enjoyed their afternoon tea.
“It was the story of two wives trying to test their husbands’ fidelity at a masked ball,” Irene told them both. “It was very amusing, Caro,” she said using her sister’s nickname.
“Two wives testing their husband’s fidelity?” Caroline asked. “It sounds a bit scandalous, Sis.”
“Not really,” Irene shook her head. “It was a silly bit of nonsense.”
“It sounds most imp
roper for an unmarried young lady to attend a play of such a subject. I’m surprised your grandmother allowed it,” Said Prudence who, though she was Caroline’s friend, could be very judgmental and caustic in her remarks.
Caroline looked back at her dear friend trying to find the right words to respond. Her mother had died when the girls were young and all that remained were her father, Hubert, and their paternal grandmother, Malvina, who took care of their raising.
Malvina Derry was a force to be reckoned with. She had been born the same year as their great Queen Victoria, and much like the queen, Malvina was a strong force within their small family. Caroline knew her grandmother allowed her sister Irene more freedom than she often had, and as Malvina had approved the play she thought nothing of it. She had been in the company of her friend and there was no harm done.
“I’m sure it was harmless Prudie. You know how much Irene enjoys the theater,” Caro tried to smooth over the hiccup and place the conversation back on even ground.
“Perhaps,” Prudence admitted, pressing her pale-yellow skirt down. “But it’s best to save those more salacious plays until you are married. So there’s no talk, dear,” she directed the last bit to Irene.
Caroline felt the room cool and looked at her impetuous younger sister. She saw Irene’s eyes narrow and then heard the words directed to Prudence.
“At least I’m certain my prospects will be favorable. There’s nothing worse than a spinster. Don’t you agree, Prudie?” With that remark, she excused herself and Caroline gritted her teeth.
“Prudie, I’m sorry. You know Irene. She’s young. She’s doesn’t think before she speaks.”
Prudence’s angular thin face looked pinched and drawn. “That was uncalled for. She can be so cruel.”
Caroline sighed. “I’m sorry Prudie. I’ll speak to her. I will.”
“What use will it do? She gets more brazen the older she gets. I remember when she climbed that tree. It was a scandal! Her petticoats were exposed. Her ankles and knees,” Prudie shuddered. “All for what?”
“She rescued a cat. She has a good heart.” Caroline explained. “You’ll agree with that.”
Prudie pursed her lips together. “She’s very flighty Caro. Capricious. You should get her married soon. Settle her. She’ll run wild and ruin your chance for a good match.”
“I can’t force her to marry Prudie. But I do agree that once she falls in love and marries, she’ll settle into the life. And I would rather she marry for love,” Caroline said. “Not be forced into something.”
“Forced? The way she flirts?! Your father may have to force the boy. As for love? Hmph! Whatever that is.” Prudence rolled her eyes and patted the side of her hat which had several flowers and two feathers in it.
Caroline sighed inwardly. Prudence Finch had been her good friend since they were children. She had never been a pretty girl and when she had received a marriage proposal, most people in their circle had thought her father’s wealth had been the main attraction.
Caroline had been requested to be the maid of honor and she had been thrilled to accept. Caroline’s wheat colored hair and hazel eyes created a striking package, and the sky-blue dress she had chosen for the wedding suited her perfectly.
Unfortunately, the wedding never happened. The groom jilted Prudence at the altar, and now five years later, Prudence was sinking into spinsterhood with a bitter, unhappy expression permanently pasted on her face.
Caroline place a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “I’ll speak to her. And you’re right. She’s flighty. Please don’t take anything she says to heart. I know she doesn’t mean it.”
Prudence stood up and her boney hands looked long and skeletal. “Dearest Caro. You two are so different. Sometimes it amazes me that you are sisters.”
Caroline accepted the kiss on her check and walked her friend out to the foyer and then the front door. Once Prudie was gone, she closed her eyes and took the stairs to the second floor and didn’t even bother to knock as she entered her sister’s room.
“Irene.” She said coming into the young woman’s room.
Her sister was perched on the small window seat that overlooked the tree-lined street. She turned only briefly to acknowledge Caroline and then turned back. Several carriages were passing by and couples were walking along the street.
“That footman next door is too handsome by far,” Irene said smiling. “And our neighbor two doors down, his youngest son is striking.”
Caroline crossed her arms. “Irene.”
Irene turned. She was a pretty girl with brown eyes and dark hair. She lacked her sister’s intelligence and beauty but had a kind heart.
“Yes Caro?” Irene asked.
“That was unnecessary and cruel the way you spoke to Prudence. She may not have beauty or be very smart but she deserves our compassion.”
“Does she?” Irene scoffed. “I suppose you think she deserves compassion because she’s your friend,” Irene asked.
“Of course.”
“And I suppose it never crossed your mind that she’s exceedingly jealous of you. You may be her friend but I doubt she’s yours.” Irene declared.
Caroline rolled her eyes. “What are you talking about? How is she jealous of me?”
Irene ignored her question and instead said, “But of course, if my friend looked like a stage actress and could speak French and Italian, I would hate her too.”
Caroline blushed. “You’re a nonsensical child.”
Irene gave her a strange look. “It’s true. You may not value such things but you have them all the same.”
“It isn’t that I don’t value beauty, such as it is,” Caroline admitted. “Beauty for us is very fleeting. I do value intelligence which is why I cultivate mine, and I value good manners.”
Irene snorted. “Good manners! I made one truthful comment about Prudie and suddenly I’m a skelpie-limmer!”
Caroline smiled. “No. You are not a badly-behaved child but you should be more delicate. You know the broken engagement hurt her greatly.”
“He was lucky,” Irene said.
“Irene. Stop. If you keep saying mean spirited things, I’ll start thinking Prudie is right. You need to be married.”
“Married? I’m too young to be married. And besides, who would I marry?”
“You’re almost 18. That’s time enough.”
“I don’t fancy anyone in particular,” she said oddly.
“What about the footman you were just eyeing?”
Irene smiled. “He’s very fetching.”
“Indeed. But not marriage to you.”
“No. Even I wouldn’t shock London society by marrying a footman.”
Caroline shook her head. “Silly girl.”
“What about you? You should be married too. At 24, you’ll be an old maid soon enough. Like your friend, Prudie,” Irene pointed out.
“You know that doesn’t interest me.”
“What interests you?” Her sister asked.
Caroline sat next to her on the window seat overlooking the busy street. “You know very well.”
“Oh do I. How can you even stand to go to that dirty district?”
Caroline sighed. She knew her sister didn’t understand. How could she? She was cosseted and cared for like a princess in a tower, meanwhile the world swirled with ugly things and the innocent people that she cared for had no one to fight for them.
“I go to that dirty district to help the innocent women and children. They are downtrodden and have no one to help them.” Caroline explained for the twentieth time.
Irene sniffed. “But why you, Caro? Why not someone paid to do it?”
Caroline touched her sister’s hair and smiled. “Because it’s the right thing to do. Because I want to do it. And it gives me joy to help others.”
With that, she left her sister to admire the menfolk along the street and walked down the hall to her own room.
✽✽✽
She closed the door to her room
and breathed in the scent of jasmine. The purchase of perfume was one of the few extravagances she allowed herself and she was always grateful for its delicate fragrance.
Her room was quietly decorated with a large bed in the middle, a small end table next to it and a desk and chair that overlooked the small garden in their Mayfair townhouse.
Her father Hubert Derry had done very well for himself as a physician. He was a respected doctor and lectured often at the Royal College of Surgeons of England, and taught medicine at Guy’s Hospital in London. He had a handful of patients that refused to seek treatment elsewhere and so he attended them.
Caroline sat before her desk and looked about her at the scattered papers. She knew her sister didn’t understand the work that was so important to her, and her grandmother wavered between shock and disdain, but Malvina never stopped her.
Her father was often out seeing his patients, lecturing or at his club, and so he left the rearing of his daughters to his mother. As Caroline became more invested in her social services, she expanded her reading, her knowledge of the world around, and began to decipher a way to make a difference.
She picked up her worn copy of London Labour and the London Poor by Henry Mayhew and placed her hand over the cover. It was an important documentation of the squalor of London and the slums people were forced to exist in.
It was a disgrace, she thought. It was an absolute disgrace. She looked at the clock above the fireplace on the mantel and saw the time was mid-afternoon. She wanted to rest for a half hour before supper and the sewing circle. She knew the ladies would all be in attendance and she wanted to be prepared for them.
Caroline lay back upon the mattress and closed her eyes. The thoughts collided inside her head. Sanitation, health, clean water, nutritious food were all important, but housing was the utmost. Without safe, clean structures to live in; without mold and rats; nothing else mattered. That was the key. She knew it. She felt herself drift off. She must find a way to move forward. Housing was the key she thought and she slipped into a quiet slumber.
✽✽✽
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