An Excellent Mystery - excerpt
May. 27th, 2014 02:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wiseheartA couple of entries below I've been discussing the new story idea to a Sherlock Holmes adventure in the original, Victorian settings, but with certain characters from the modern BBC-series. Behind the cut you can read a short excerpt of Chapter 01, just for the fun of it.
Or, as it had been described when formally opened on 1 June 1854 – although it had already been in use for two years by then – the “Grand Central Station at Birmingham”.
Oh, there had been other grand buildings, surely. There was The Grand Hotel on Colmore Row, St. Philip’s Cathedral, the Theatre Royal... one could have gone on for hours. But Mr Roberts found that none of them could be compared with his beloved station.
A breath-taking piece of architecture it was, which, at the time of the opening, had the largest arched single-span iron and glass roof in the world, spanning a width of 212 feet and being 840 feet long. It had held this title for fourteen years, until St Pancras's Station opened, just last year.
A true marvel that he, Lucius Roberts, had been allowed to take care of since the very first day.
Thirty-five years long had he been caretaker of this jewel, and he’d loved every single day of it. But he wasn’t a young man anymore. It was time to retire from active duty.
Today he’d finish instructing his successor on the duties and responsibilities of a Station Superintendent. And as much as the thought of handing over the station hurt him, he knew his jewel would be in good hands with young Mr Stoner.
Such a memorable day deserved the proper attire, and so e took out his best to honour the event, even though his footman ad to go away on an errand and thus couldn’t help him getting dressed. Fortunately, though elderly, he was no dotard yet. He could get dressed on his own properly. It just cost him more time without help was all.
Trousers and boots went on easily enough. He could do them sitting down, after all. Well, mostly. Getting the long, fine linen shirt over his head and tucked in properly, without those beastly wrinkles, was a little more difficult. He had to sit down again, for he felt a brief wave of dizziness. But eventually, he got the suspenders and the waistcoat and its many small buttons and the jacket managed.
Even if he dropped the button hook in the process. Twice.
He admired his appearance in the minor with satisfaction. Whatever he might think about the capricious changes of fashion, he had to admit that lately, it had taken a turn to the better. The narrowed trousers, the sleeker cut of jackets looked more appealing. Especially the way jackets were cut up from the bottom now, so that the waistcoat beneath could be seen – and, more importantly, the chin of the fob watch threaded through its buttonhole.
He made a very dignified picture with it, he found.
Now it was just him and the cravat. He hadn’t tied it himself for a while and tried to remember the proper moves as he wound the deep burgundy silk around his throat carefully, ignoring the tremor in his hands... a merciless reminder that he was getting old; perhaps even feeble.
It took him several tries to get it right. But when it was done, when it was secured with the pin – a gift from his co-workers on his thirty-year-anniversary – he almost felt like himself again. Almost. Still, he wished his footman would be here to make sure he looked as neat and proper as a man of his standing was expected to do.
For visuals: Mr Roberts is "played" by Sir Derek Jacobi, as he looked in the role of Colonel Protheroe in "Murder at the Vicarage".
So, what do you think?
Or, as it had been described when formally opened on 1 June 1854 – although it had already been in use for two years by then – the “Grand Central Station at Birmingham”.
Oh, there had been other grand buildings, surely. There was The Grand Hotel on Colmore Row, St. Philip’s Cathedral, the Theatre Royal... one could have gone on for hours. But Mr Roberts found that none of them could be compared with his beloved station.
A breath-taking piece of architecture it was, which, at the time of the opening, had the largest arched single-span iron and glass roof in the world, spanning a width of 212 feet and being 840 feet long. It had held this title for fourteen years, until St Pancras's Station opened, just last year.
A true marvel that he, Lucius Roberts, had been allowed to take care of since the very first day.
Thirty-five years long had he been caretaker of this jewel, and he’d loved every single day of it. But he wasn’t a young man anymore. It was time to retire from active duty.
Today he’d finish instructing his successor on the duties and responsibilities of a Station Superintendent. And as much as the thought of handing over the station hurt him, he knew his jewel would be in good hands with young Mr Stoner.
Such a memorable day deserved the proper attire, and so e took out his best to honour the event, even though his footman ad to go away on an errand and thus couldn’t help him getting dressed. Fortunately, though elderly, he was no dotard yet. He could get dressed on his own properly. It just cost him more time without help was all.
Trousers and boots went on easily enough. He could do them sitting down, after all. Well, mostly. Getting the long, fine linen shirt over his head and tucked in properly, without those beastly wrinkles, was a little more difficult. He had to sit down again, for he felt a brief wave of dizziness. But eventually, he got the suspenders and the waistcoat and its many small buttons and the jacket managed.
Even if he dropped the button hook in the process. Twice.
He admired his appearance in the minor with satisfaction. Whatever he might think about the capricious changes of fashion, he had to admit that lately, it had taken a turn to the better. The narrowed trousers, the sleeker cut of jackets looked more appealing. Especially the way jackets were cut up from the bottom now, so that the waistcoat beneath could be seen – and, more importantly, the chin of the fob watch threaded through its buttonhole.
He made a very dignified picture with it, he found.
Now it was just him and the cravat. He hadn’t tied it himself for a while and tried to remember the proper moves as he wound the deep burgundy silk around his throat carefully, ignoring the tremor in his hands... a merciless reminder that he was getting old; perhaps even feeble.
It took him several tries to get it right. But when it was done, when it was secured with the pin – a gift from his co-workers on his thirty-year-anniversary – he almost felt like himself again. Almost. Still, he wished his footman would be here to make sure he looked as neat and proper as a man of his standing was expected to do.
For visuals: Mr Roberts is "played" by Sir Derek Jacobi, as he looked in the role of Colonel Protheroe in "Murder at the Vicarage".
So, what do you think?
