Fandom Poldark

[SandraDeelightful]

Hugh Armitage

​

Hugh Armitage had absolutely no desire to go into politics and become a member of parliament and he always made that abundantly clear. He had never made any attempt to hide the fact that the world of politics were simply not meant for him. He had absolutely no passion for the field of politics and wanted to avoid becoming a member of parliament at all costs. He would have much rather stayed in the navy, being a navigator, something that he actually enjoyed, rather than go into politics. And while he didn't consider himself to be the best navigator, he did consider that to be what he was best at. And that was where his passions were, along with poetry and sketching, even if he considered himself to be passable, at the very best. The world of politics simply were not of interest to him and he didn't want to be part of that world, despite his uncle, Lord Falmouth's, wishes and attempts to get him elected into parliament.

Part of his Uncle Falmouth's plans to get Hugh a seat in parliament were throwing parties and balls and dinners in order to gain more connections in order to make it more likely that Hugh would be elected as an member of parliament. Lord Falmouth was already well connected, but he had high aspirations for his nephew, wanting him to work his way up in the world of politics. Of course, Hugh loved his Uncle Falmouth dearly, but his constant talking of not wanting to go into politics seemed to fall on deaf ears when it came to him. He had absolutely no intention of being his uncle's nomination, as he was sure that his uncle would put him fourth as his candidate when the next election came. He did not believe he would be a good politician. However, his uncle clearly did. Even Sir Francis Basset seemed to think that, and he most certainly did not get along with his Uncle Falmouth. Maybe they were right. Hugh didn't think so, but maybe they were right. Even if they were, Hugh had no desire to go into politics. He would have much rather gone into the navy, continue being a navigator. That was where he felt that he was best suited. Not in parliament.

It wasn't that Hugh minded events such as these. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He rather enjoyed them. It was the politics of it all that he found tiresome, his Uncle Falmouth's intentions behind these sorts of things. If it weren't for that, he would have had much more fun and enjoyed himself a lot more that he was at the moment. His Uncle Falmouth had high expectations for his nephew. And, while Hugh had absolutely no desire to disappoint his uncle, he had absolutely no desire to go into politics either. And there was another aspect of these sorts of events that Hugh despised, as well. There were women whom his uncle wanted him to associate with, women with political ties and connections. And Hugh had never made it any secret that he had every desire and intention to marry for love. For him, that was a non-negotiable. He was called a romantic for such a notion, and that was entirely correct. Hugh was well aware of that. And he didn't really mind it, to be quite honest. He really didn't mind throwing societal conventions out for such a thing. Or perhaps the woman he was destined for was of a higher class, and he certainly wouldn't have minded that either. All he wanted was to be truly in love with the woman he ended up marrying. Hugh was truly a romantic at heart, and it was quite easy to see. From his simple notion of marrying for love, and as he could often be seen mindlessly scribbling away in his journal. He would be jotting down some poem, or scribbling some sketch. He didn't consider himself to be very good at him. But he considered himself to be well enough, and he found both poetry and sketching to be nice hobbies.

He, of course, had his little journal on him, as he did at all times. He knew that at parties like these it might be rude if he brought out that journal and began writing or sketching. But it was something that he enjoyed. It was something he found to be relaxing and enjoyable. He found a muse in for a poem or a sketch in the strangest places and he didn't want to be without it in case inspiration came to him. He had no problem taking out his journal out if he found something to sketch or write a poem about. He honestly didn't care if others thought that it might be seen as rude. Perhaps, if the subject of his poem or sketch was a person, they might appreciate that he had written them a poem or sketched them. Or perhaps they might just find it odd. Perhaps the latter was the more likely scenario. It's what he would suspect would be the most likely option if that were the case. But still, if inspiration struck him, he would certainly pull out his little journal.

But, Hugh had determined that he would enjoy himself tonight. He would talk and dance gladly, and if the topic of politics came up, he would gladly divert the conversation away from the subject, hoping to avoid the topic. Or at least avoid it as much as possible. He doubted that he would be able to avoid it altogether. It seemed to be an unrealistic goal, but he would try. If he would have enjoyed it without the politics, he most certainly would try to enjoy it with it. He doubted it would be that hard.

Ysella Truscott


​

As the eldest of their ten children, Ysella Truscott's parents always expected her to be the first one up, as well as the one to wake the other children up and get them dressed and ready for the day. It was routine for her. What was not routine, however, was for one of the children to wake up with a sore throat. Her youngest brother, Josiah, who was only seven, had complained about it upon waking up. Ysella had told him to rest while she helped dress the younger ones of her siblings, before running to her parents and telling them of Josiah's sore throat. Her mother was always such a worry-wart, constantly thinking of the well-being of her children. It wasn't as though Ysella couldn't understand that. She was a mother after all. And of course Ysella loved her mother. But her mother's love bordered on smothering sometimes, and it was enough to get on Ysella's nerves. And upon telling her parents of Josiah's sore throat, she went into a frenzy.

Ysella's father, on the other hand, was far more level-headed when it came to his children, and he did not become so worried so easily. He was always there to calm his wife down, and tell her that the children were just a little sick and that it would pass quickly enough. And this time, it was no different. Before he left for work, as he kissed his wife in parting as he always did, he told her to let Josiah rest for the day, and that he would be fine for the next morning. Of course, Ysella's mother had her reservations of the whole thing, but nonetheless, she agreed and put Ysella of taking in charge of being his primary caretaker for the day. And, of course, to report to her in any sort of of change in his condition to her immediately, which of course Ysella agreed to. She was always the one that her mother put in charge of taking care of the children when they were sick. Mostly because she was the eldest, and also because she was the best at comforting them and taking care of them. But, Ysella loved her little siblings dearly, and she was happy to take care of them when they were ill, knowing they would do the same for her.

Ysella had sat with her little brother all day, a little bowl of cold water beside her with a rag in it, that she would press against his forehead if she felt that he might be getting a little too warn. And he had been getting warm. He had began coughing a soon after he awoke and Ysella could tell that he was running a fever. At the start of the day, it was only a low fever. He was warm, but he wasn't hot. As Ysella sat with him, wiping his forehead with the cool water didn't seem to be helping. He only seemed to be getting warmer and warmer. At one point, she had reluctantly gone to her mother, to tell her of Josiah's worsening condition. She also hastily added that she didn't think that it was anything to worry about, still thinking it was just a little cold. Of course, her mother was not convinced of that though, but Ysella assured her that it would be over soon. "There's work to be done, Ma," Ysella had told her. "It can't stop because one of the lot is ill." And so her mother sent her back into the bedroom, which all the children shared, to continue taking care of Josiah. She was keeping him company and making sure that he was comfortable. She was making sure he slept and was well rested, telling him he needed his sleep if he wanted to get better. After one of his naps early in the afternoon, he woke up, now complaining of a headache. Again, this wasn't something that Ysella didn't really think much of. She of course brought that information to her mother, and once again calmed all of her mother's worry. And she went back to sit with her brother, making sure that he felt alright, and trying to nurse him back to health to the best of her ability.

Unfortunately, as the day progressed, Josiah hadn't gotten better. On the contrary, his condition only seemed to worsen. While he was taking a nap during the middle of the afternoon, Ysella had noticed that Josiah's face had gotten red and he was sweating profusely. Another thing she noticed was that his breathing was labored. It was only then that Ysella actually began to worry about Josiah, considering how quickly whatever illness he had progressed. Just last night, Ysella had been chasing him around the house, trying to get him to calm down and go to bed. Now, he was nothing like the wild and mischievous that he had always been. It was honestly a heartbreaking sight to her. She was cursing herself for not worrying earlier. She burst into the kitchen, which doubled as a dining room, where her mother and her sister, Tressa, who was only two years younger than her, and the sibling closest to her in age, were busy mending some clothes.

Upon Ysella telling them that Josiah's condition had worsened to a point where it was actually worrisome, Ysella's mother burst into a frenzy, running to sit with Josiah and began dabbing his forehead with the cloth that Ysella had left by his bedside. Ysella's mother screamed at her to fetch a doctor and Ysella obeyed. She went to put on her grey cloak over her dark blue dress and rushed off, in search of Dr. Enys.

 

[Kassandra Rose]

Estella De Artois
​

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife - or so that was what Estella's friend, Marie Pendlehaven, had told her, as she twisted and weaved the silky white strands of Ella's hair into something fashionably chic.
And yet, the young Artois wasn't sure how much of a 'truth' that this actually was. George Warleggan, from what she could gather, didn't particularly want a wife, but instead the fortune, the connections and the subsequent heir that commonly followed such a union. No, if anything was a universal truth, at least to the nobility of Cornwall, it was that that money could undeniably buy happiness. For, it could purchase whatever it was that the heart desired: friends, connections, balls and feasts.

Such was true to the Tregothnan heir, who had accumulated the great, the good and, in George's case, the dirty rich, all together in his uncle's pursuit of ensuring his nephew a seat at parliament.

"I do believe that young Gentleman over there rather staring at you, Ella," her companion poked her in the side of her corset. Struggling to breathe already, Estella wriggled uncomfortably beneath the woman's touch, as small as it may be, and attempted to tilt her porcelain face in a manner that would not adhere attention.

"By no means," she shook her head, though she knew it to be the truth. "That Gentleman, would be Lord Falmouth's nephew, I believe, Lieutenant Armitage, and if anything I think him to be quite enticed by your natural beauty". The corners of her rouged lips tugged up ever so slightly. "Or, if not, he is at least admiring your handiwork, little else". Marie had spent hours fawning over them wretched, unruly curls of her new companion, though Estella sensed very little difference.

The differences between Estella and Marie were many. First of all, the former was very much engaged - which was indeed rather ironic given the second main difference. Marie Pendlehaven had always been rather stir crazy about men, and children, and weddings. Her pursuit for a husband was persistent and relentless. Unfortunately for the two of them, it was Estella who were to wed the upcoming summer, to no other but Mr. George Warleggan.

"I think it be little else but polite, to go up and wish our host every bit of success in his upcoming election. Do you not?" Marie giggled, grasping at the ladies hand. Estella merely rolled her eyes. "Don't look at me like that. I need you to accompany me. Imagine the whispers if I went and marched up there myself! Oh, the disgrace!"

A small sign whistled between her slightly agape petals of lips. "Fine, keep my involvement short and sweet, Marie," she whispered in return, allowing the little minx to lead the way. "You know George gets... insecure when I involve myself too much with the pursuits of other men". Such pettiness, it was one of the reasons that she'd never wished to wed in the first place.

With a bow of her head in prompt response, the young maiden let the two of them towards the gentleman. Her eyes scanned, so softly, the face of Marie's dream husband as they approached. Her friend was not, by any means, wrong. He was, without a doubt, most certainly a sight for sore eyes - or for any eyes really. His skin was flawless, as if a babe sent straight from the clouds of heaven, and it upheld such sweet, olive warmth. Below each of his high cheekbones, the Angels had kissed him, blessing him with two very beautiful dimples. His jaw was soft, but not without manly edge, and his hair fell in loose waves that reminded one of the hush sounds of the Cornish sea against the ribbed sand.

"Excuse me, Lieutenant," Marie flashed the smile that Estella had watched her practice for hours inside the looking glass. "I thought I ought to come and wish you the utmost best in the upcoming election. I wanted you to know that my uncle, the right honourable Lord Windersworth, would be utmost pleased to cast his vote your way". She paused, unnaturally batting her eyelashes to the point that Estella simply could not refrain her laughter any longer. A warm chuckle escaped her lips like the sound of a honey bee against the drizzle of a summer's breeze. Marie was not the slightest bit impressed. "You must excuse my friend, Estella, she has had quite too much to drink".

"Maria!" She exclaimed, her mouth falling agape. "I must apologise, Lieutenant," she shook her head, only just looking up to meet his eye and finding she could not thus look elsewhere. "I assure you that my wits are otherwise fully intact. I haven't yet touched a drop of liquor since I arrived. However, unlike my friend, I have little reason for pestering you," she curtsied slowly, "so I will promptly bid you adieu, and leave you in peace. Lord knows that you probably need it".

Dr. John Enys
​

"You are in good health, Doctor Enys?" A small voice called out to him, not one that he was too familiar with. Turning upon the heel of his boot, John came to face the lady with a false but necessary, polite smile. His dark eyes fell shadow to her light face.

"Miss Willis," he nodded duly. Yet, the corners of his lips tugged upwards at her company, and could not be herewith withdrawn from such. "I am, thank you for your regards. How is your father keeping? From what I last heard, the twins are growing steadily".

"Ah, yes," she bowed sweetly. "Sophia and Little Jonathan, would you believe that they are but five years of age this year? How time flies by so quickly when one is not ensuring watch".

"How indeed," was his response, short but all too aware of it to be the truth. It felt like only yesterday that Caroline and him had shared their most melancholy farewell, before he was shipped off to the Navy, that only yesterday she had placed her small ring in the palm of his gigantic hand and kissed it softly shut. 'Forget me not,' she had said, and he had followed obediently, like a sailor helpless to the voice of his siren, and yet she had been so quick to cast him aside in her heart. Caroline Penvenen was, indeed, married, or so he'd heard by simple rumour. She hadn't even bothered to write to him. "It feels like just last week that I was helping Mistress Willis deliver the babes. You look well recovered from the stress of that night".

"I thank ye for your compliments, sir. Be they deserved or not. Will you be furthermore joining the dancing, Captain? I'm sure that my father would wish to see another of his daughters besotted on a gentleman". John shuffled his weight from one foot of another, sheepishly rubbing his neck. How was he going to attempt to get himself out of this one? Damn you, Hugh, probing me to attend this wicked gathering, "comrades in arms, victims of hell", and forgetting me.

John was about to stumble over his words, attempting frantically to think of an excuse when a doorman approached. "Doctor Enys?" John merely nodded. "Someone here to see you on an urgent enquiry. What should I tell them, that you are busy?"

"No, no," he shook his head promptly. "I must sincerely apologise, Miss Willis. Some other time, perhaps". He smiled, politely bowing, before turning to the doorman. "Lead the way, if you will. Did the enquirer happen to tell you anything of their business?"

"Nay, nothing sir," he replied. John simply nodded once more, his mind fumbling over what could possibly have happened to evoke such haste. Surely, it could not be a mining accident at this unearthly hour. Although, he could not really put it past Ross, injuring himself in no doubt a ridiculous way. That had to be it. It was Ross!

So, one must imagine the surprise of dear Doctor Enys, when the door was pulled open before him to reveal not Poldark, but a beautiful, gentle looking maiden. "J- John Enys, Doctor John Enys, m'am," he stuttered dreadfully, before quickly adding, "at your service, of course. Are you quite okay?" He supposed not. It must've been quite a far length that this angel had fell, when she dropped from Heaven.

 

[SandraDeelightful]

Hugh Armitage

​

A young woman whom he had never seen before had caught his eyes, young and pretty, with beautiful blonde hair. He was smitten at his first sight. He was very tempted to get out his little notebook and begin sketching her. She was certainly quite the muse to inspire great works of art. He tried to look at her for too long, for fear that he would be caught staring, but he most certainly kept stealing a glance here and there. A smile couldn't help but tug at the corners of his lips as he noticed that she along with a companion of hers, whom he had seen her converse with for quite some time. He hadn't met her before, and he was quite eager for an introduction.

He wasn't surprised as the companion of the beautiful young lady brought up the election and his smile did falter, but only for a minute. As much as he had no desire to go into politics, as well as talking about them. But he wasn't going to be rude about it. He was especially not going to be rude about it in front of two lovely young women. He was still a gentlemen, after all. At one of the women's comments about her uncle being pleased to cast his vote to him. He had no desire to talk politics and hoped he could avert the conversation quickly. He smirked ever so slightly and replied, "Thank you, ma'am. I am sure that Lord Windersworth will cast his vote for the most qualified candidate."

"Please, do not feel obliged to leave," Hugh continued as he looked at the blonde woman. His smirk that he was still wearing turned into a genuine smile. Not only was she pretty, but she had such a sweet laugh. How could one not smile genuinely at such a sound. But he was doing his best to not show preference to one lady over the other, knowing that it would not be very gentlemanly to do so. "I do not feel pestered at all. And I believe you've caught me at a disadvantage. You seem to know who I am, and yet, I do not know who you are." He bowed as he said, "Lieutenant Hugh Armitage."

Ysella Truscott

​

By the time Ysella had reached her destination, she had word herself out. She was a bit of breath, her light brown hair falling out of the loose bun, and she was almost sick with worry over her poor little brother. Considering how rapidly his condition had worsened throughout the day, her mind kept worrying to the worst scenarios. Her mind kept wandering at a mile a minute all sorts of awful things running through her mind. She was terrified of arriving back to her house, only to find that her brother was dead. The thought terrified her to no end. Her dark grey eyes were wide with fear at the prospect. It was enough to make her cry, but she held it back. As Dr. Enys greeted her, she bobbed her head clumsily. She blushed a little bit, noticing he was quite handsome.

"Pardon me, sir," said Ysella. Her voice was soft and timid but it was still urgent, always feeling nervous when talking to people whom she did not know well, especially around people whom she was not related to. If she hadn't been so worried for little Josiah, she probably would have protested her mother telling her to go, to send Tressa to go instead. Only now had her worries of speaking with others had caught up with with her. She continued, with her voice still meek. "My name is Ysella Truscott. My little brother's taken ill. Ne'er seen him like it before. I was wondering if ye could maybe take a look at him?" Ysella hastily added, "'Course I understand if ye can't."

She would have completely understood if he wouldn't, but she was desperate at the moment. She had come at a late hour and practically began begging for his services. But she figured it would be better to try. Her poor little brother needed help and all she could do was dab his forehead with cool water, and keep him comfortable in bed.

 

[Kassandra Rose]

George was going to have a hernia when he caught wind of where his fiancée's attentions where. All the same, it was quite rather difficult to leave now, with him having so plainly assuring her that he'd appreciate being acquainted. After all, did it not seem fitting for one to familiarise them self with their host? Surely, it would be to the greatest advantage of Mr. Warleggan? Well, that was what she told herself, as she softly curtsied one more.

"Estella De Artois, sir," she smiled at him gingerly. Her timid eyes dared to venture a little further than typicality, venturing to take in every detail from what he was wearing to the very pocket book that was in his hand, until her eyes found their way to his own. Here, she found that if was proving quite the impossible task to detangle oneself.

"Estella is a Bourbon, Lieutenant, the daughter of the Count of Artois - and her mother was a Stanley. Could you proclaim that you have ever met a more gentile lady?" Marie attempted to brag of her noble connections. "We met through my father's connections. Being in parliament, he has a great deal of-"

"Do you write?" The words blurted from the fair haired lady before she could even comprehend them herself. "Sir, I mean to say, that is quite a beautiful book that you have there. Do you take interest in the canon?"

***

"No intrusion. No intrusion," John tenderly assured her. If you'd ask any of the mining villagers of Wheal Grace, they'd all assure you that this was a very typical nature to Doctor Enys. In fact, one could say that a thief would rob the man of all things he held dear, only to fall and injure themselves, and the only thing that Enys would care for is the thief's wellbeing. It was not at all in his character to care much for his own pleasure. Pleasure? Why, he got that from helping others! Was that not the finest thing a man could possibly do?

"In fact, we must make haste. You've certainly travelled all this way for an urgent ordeal. Are you sure you are okay to ride?" He analysed the softness of her pale colour. She seemed to be withering, fading a little, beneath the weight of stress. He wondered if he ought to fetch her a drink and first sit her down. Yet, he knew that if his to-be-patient was truly so ill, such triviality was of no true importance. "Never mind, we must leave immediately". He began to stride towards the door, offering her his large hand. "You did come by horse, didn't you?"

By the looks of it, it appeared that she had actually ran the whole distance. The hem of her lovely frock was torn and tattered, splattered with an abundance of mud and dirt. Her hand was icy cold, almost numbing to his own. Her colour was almost non-existent. "Never mind, we shall take my own, but you must lead the way. Do you think you can do that for me?"

 

[SandraDeelightful]

"A pleasure, mademoiselle," said Hugh, as he bowed slightly, once again as Estella introduced himself. He tried not to show his disinterest in the woman's companion as she went on about her various connections in the political sphere. He wanted to bring up something else. Anything else, but he did not wish to be rude.

He hoped that he might be able to change the subject, but luckily for him, Estella came in, changing the subject herself, something that Hugh was immensely grateful for. He looked towards her and gave her a small smile. Hugh was pleased to have the conversation diverted to his notebook, eager to steer the conversation away from the world of politics. But then, he would have been pleased to have a conversation on any other topic.

"Oh," said Hugh, as he looked at his notebook for a moment before looking back towards Estella. "I do write sometimes. Poetry, really. And sketches, every once in a while. I do have an interest, but I would mostly say it is a hobby."

***

Ysella was glad that she wasn't being a bother, coming to ask for help tending to her little brother and a small smile graced her lips. She had worried quite a bit that he might refuse. She wouldn't know what she was going to do if that happened. And Ysella breathed a small sigh of relief when he told her that he would go with her and help little Josiah.

Ysella shook her head as he asked if she came on horseback. She wished she had. If one had been available for her to take, she certainly would have taken one. But her family only had one horse and the eldest of her brothers, fifteen year old Harold, had taken her to run some errands for her mother. He was probably back by now, but she didn't have the time to wait.

"No, no horse, sir," said Ysella as she placed her tiny, work-worn hand in his. "But I'd be happy to show ye the way."

 

[Kassandra Rose]

"I take quite an interest in poetry myself. Do you familiarise yourself with the works of the Romantics?" She asked him, ignoring their circumstances and surroundings. "I must not proclaim myself a fan of neither Samuel Coleridge, nor dear Lord Byron . For, I do find them rather tiresome. However, I do profess myself a dear lover of both John Keats and William Wordsworth".

"What a peculiar name for a poet," Marie attempted to join the intellectual conversement with the little wits that she had beneath all them golden brown curls. "Wordsworth. Do you suppose it to be a real name?"

"Well, yes," Estella's eyebrows furrowed. "I do suppose it so, for it is his name. Regardless of such triviality, I do find both Keats and Wordsworth quite the visionaries. My father would scold me to steer clear of such ludicrous ideas, but something about 'The Convict' truly reasonated with my soul".

She wondered if he was a man of forwards thinking, or indeed backwards as her father and fiancé. Did he endorse the slave trade? Did he think women to be fragile creatures that were only there to serve a man's lsytfil and financial need? "I think there's something to be said about a man who is not afraid to differentiate himself from the rest of the crowd," she watched him closely, attempting to analyse his reaction, should she provoke such a thing.

***

​

He could see that her hand was so very clearly work worn, as she gently gave it out to him. It struck something deep inside his gut, made him fear for her wellbeing and that of her family all the more. There was something about the lower classes, even the lowest of the upper class, that reasonated with John. He didn't proclaim himself to be a shepherd to them, as poor little lost lambs. However, he did see them as people, people with needs, often much greater than that of his own class, who were often overlooked as if they were not human at all.

They didn't have the time for the added weight of his carriage, so as he cladded upon his horse, he used his hand to help heave her up before him. "Okay," he cleared his threat, attempting to summon some kind of confidence. "Remember you must lead the way". Bringing the leash down upon the gentle beast, and tapping his horse into its side, the horse began once more to gallop North.

"Tell me, if you can spare me the words, of your family, their circumstances, and your brother's symptoms and condition for the last few hours," he hoped for her sake that the poor child wasn't too ill to recover. Not that he considered her frail, any woman with the confidence and disregard for her own wellbeing, who would risk her own life for that of family, was a force to be reckoned with.

 

[SandraDeelightful]

​

He smiled as Estella began talking of her favorite poets and her interest in poetry, glad to meet someone who knew of poets and would wish to talk about them. He looked a little puzzled by Marie's comment, but he did have to admit, Wordsworth was a fitting name for a writer. But his attentions quickly turned back to Estella, eager to have someone to discuss poetry with. He had met so few people that he could talk about it with and he was happy to have the conversation turned to a topic which he was passionate about.

"It is always nice to meet someone with an interest in poetry, particularly the Romantics," said Hugh. He was pleased to meet someone like-minded in a love of poetry, as well as someone who was a fan of the same poets as him. He really didn't have anybody whom he could really talk about these sorts of things with, and he was pleased to have met someone with a similar interest. "I certainly enjoyed The Convict. And I am in complete agreement with you, Mademoiselle de Artois. And, if it means anything, I think your father is quite wrong in wanting you to keep away from such ideas."

***

​

"There's a path up ahead, to the right, took a while on foot, but I expect it be quicker on horse," said Ysella, before telling him of her family and her brother's illness. "There's ten of us and me ma and pa. We get by alright, I suppose. None of ne'er been really ill before. Josiah was fine last night. And this mornin' he had a sore throat when he woke. Been gettin' worse by the hour. And by the time I left his breathin' was slow and he was burnin' up, poor thing."

She was well aware of how lucky her family was. Even if they were poor, all ten had survived infancy, and they had all be relatively healthy. Sure there were days when one of them wasn't feeling to well, it was usually only a little illness and they were back up by the next day. It was nothing like Josiah was experiencing all day. So many parents lost their children at a young age, and so many women died from childbirth. Ysella would be lying if she said that she wasn't afraid of that.

 

[Kassandra Rose]

"Don't let him hear you say so, he doesn't take such criticism lightly. I assure you, I have told him this myself," she allowed herself to give him but the slightest smile, the corners of her Rose petal lips tugging slightly upwards, to meet her gentle azure eyes. "I daresay you would let me have a look inside? I write myself, though do not oft bring my book around with me," she confessed. "I understand entirely if you would much rather not. My poems are somewhat of a diary to me, my deepest and most hidden secrets and emotions expressed simply through the form of verse".

George shared no such mutual interests. He cared little for a poor mans hobby, like poetry and fiction reading. Such trivialities, he claimed, were used for escapism. What did he have to escape? Nothing, for his life was 'entirely perfect', and 'entirely more so' now that he had 'captured' her heart. She wasn't so sure of the truth behind either of this claims. Yet, left him to whatever shallowness lurked inside that peculiar mind.

A spoon was clanged against chalice, as Falmouth encouraged his guests towards the dining table where the meal had been prepared. Although Estella frantically searched the room from side to side, her fiancé was nowhere to be found. No doubt, it would be another triviality for George to complain about later. Biting down upon her lower lip, she looked to Hugh and Marie. "I fear that we may have lost Mr. Warleggan," she admitted, "entirely a fault of my on carelessness".

~~~​

"Good. Well, not precisely good but, the sore throats eliminates a lot of fatal illnesses, including smallpox, cow pox, and the sweating sickness. Has your brother complained of any of the following: An ache of the head? Fatigue, by this I mean less energy? And, stiffness of the neck or back?" He attempted to keep his eyes upon the road, but it was deadfully hard to steady both himself and her, ride his horse, and slowly eliminate possible plagues of the poor little lad.

"From what I last heard, there was a recent outbreak in a mining village nearby of Polio. Poliovirus can be transmitted through direct contact with someone infected with the virus or, less commonly, through contaminated food and water, which means that if one person in your family has it, it is likely that more are to be infected. People carrying the poliovirus can spread the virus for weeks in their feces, but even people who do not have symptoms can pass the virus on to others". John did not wince, or cower away from his grasp of her. He was more than aware of the drawbacks that came with choosing this profession, especially tending to the poor which could not afford such hygiene and cleanliness as the rich.

Enys knew already what the answer to his question would likely be, but all the same he had to ask. "Miss Ysella, I must enquire, if your brother is indeed contagiously ill, do your family have anywhere to stay until perchance the illness passes? It is not wise to have so many bodies clustered together. It maximised the chances of epidemic, allows the disease to thrive and prosper, and also endangers every member of your family". Having followed her directions, the horse halted outside the gates of the family home. Clambering down, John ensured that he did not knock her, even the slightest bit, before assisting her down herself.

 

[SandraDeelightful]

"I would be happy to show you some of my work, Mademoiselle de Artois," said Hugh, with a small smile on his face, handing over his little notebook. Although he was already willing to let her have a peak at his writings, he was sure that her smile played a small part in it. It really was a lovely simile.He really hadn't shown his work to anyone before. A few people here and there, but it was a rare occasion to have someone take an interested in such things. But he was always happy to meet someone who shared his interest in poetry, and he was glad to meet Estella tonight, always eager to have someone to discuss it with. "Though I feel the need to remind you that I am no professional. It is little more than a hobby. But I, as well, use poetry to divulge my innermost thoughts and feelings. I find verse the easiest way to do so."

He was eager to continue his conversation with Estella, glad to have finally met someone who shared his interest in poetry. However it seemed like his uncle had other plans as he signaled for everyone to go into the dining room, as it was time for the meal to be served. He hoped that he would get the chance to speak with her more later in the evening, as he certainly enjoyed their conversation.

"Oh, you are acquainted with George Warleggan?" Hugh asked as he heard her comment, and began walking towards the dining room. He really shouldn't have been surprised, considering the prestigious heritage that this woman that this young woman came from. She was most likely associated with all sorts of noble and prestigious families. But, such things like connections and prestigious family meant very, very little to him. He really had never cared for such things. But he was intrigued by Estella de Artois. And her family name had nothing to do with that. He was eager to talk to her about poetry, glad to meet someone with a such a like mind.

***​

Ysella breathed a small sigh of relief as Dr. Enys was able to rule out a few of deathly illnesses. She had feared it would be one of them, but that still didn't erase all of her fears. She certainly wasn't well-versed in illnesses and how to treat them. But there was a bit of a weight lifted off of her chest knowing that there were a few things that it wasn't. But the idea it might be polio certainly frightened her. And she really didn't know what her and her family would do if her brother was contagious. Their house was incredibly small. It would be ease for any of them to catch whatever Josiah had, especially since Ysella and all of her siblings shared one room.

"He ne're said anythin' about any stiffness," Ysella started, trying to remember anything else that her brother might have said that Josiah that was considered out of the ordinary. And he did say that he had an achin' head. She thought about the night before and how he was running around in an attempt to escape going to bed. "He hasn't said anythin' about bein' fatigued, but last night I was chasin' him 'round, tryin' to get him to go to bed. There ain't nowhere for us to go, though."

Once Dr. Enys had helped her off the horse, she began leading him into her tiny house. Her father had come home, and was waiting at the dining room table, as were her other two brothers, Harold and Jesse, along with the youngest two children after Josiah, Agnes and Nelly. She led him into the bedroom that she shared with her siblings, where her mother and the rest of his sisters, Tressa, Kerensa, Sadie and Edith, were crowded around Josiah, who looked like he had gotten even worse while she had been gone.