Author Topic: The Tragic Tale of Miss Tyndall  (Read 142 times)

faceknives

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The Tragic Tale of Miss Tyndall
« on: February 13, 2019, 04:22:22 PM »
The best that can be said of Miss Tyndall's life is that at least her formative years were happy.  True, her father was often working late, keeping his bakery afloat.  But she never doubted her parents love and their life was comfortable in a lower middle class kind of way.

Best of all, she was in love with her husband Hilton Tyndall.  The two had got together as childhood sweethearts and unlike many such relationships their love had evolved and blossomed over time.  Her parents didn't entirely approve of his career as a promising new undertaker, but the Tyndalls were a similarly respectable middle class family which helped them swallow their concerns.

They'd got married when they were both 17 and had been in marital bliss for just over a year when tragedy struck.  It's the fear of every undertaker's wife that their husband won't return from his work, but this was far worse than she could ever have imagined in her worst nightmares.

She insisted on seeing the body, despite her parent's advice.  And poor Hilton had been mutilated beyond belief by something obviously possessed of far more malicious intelligence than any animate.  Worst of all was the look of sheer horror on his face.

She never cried.  Not even when alone.  She never cried. But the day after seeing the body she went to the Mourner's Guild and signed up on the spot.

It's rare for the Mourner's Guild to take someone so low class (and compared to most of her fellow trainees her background was poor) but there was something about her expression that meant the Guild felt unable to turn her away.

And their decision was quickly proven right. Through sheer grit and determination Miss Tyndall took to Mourner training quicker than any other student that year. The only thing that was unusual is quite how antisocial she was, even for a Mourner.  Putting her all into work left her no time for socialising, not even with the other students and faculty.  She wasn't unpopular, always being courteous to the other residents of the Guild. But it's fair to say she was more respected than liked.

And after three years she was more than ready to graduate.

Despite her lower middle class social origins the Mourners sent her to an aristocratic family, the Fetherstonehaughs, who were wealthy, influential and had made very clear they expected the very best the guild had to offer.  And Miss Tyndall was certainly that.

She liked the Fetherstonehaughs.  They were formal, even stifled, but that suited her. The children were well behaved and the lady of the house was the toast of the social circuit. But it was Cyril  Fetherstonehaugh who drew her attention.  Middle aged and charismatic, she'd never come across a man like him before.  While the very model of propriety in public, in private he laughed and he even made her laugh for the first time since Hilton died.  They talked into the night sometimes and he finally broke through her shell and then her vow of celibacy.  She wouldn't have done it if he'd been happy, but he'd explained to her how he was in a loveless marriage and how Pearle was “the only woman that truly understands me”.  And she fell for it, having no experience of charming witty men to suggest otherwise.

And while he couldn't leave his wife for social reasons he'd never abandon her no matter what happened.

Well, unless a journalist for one of the scandal sheets caught them in a tryst apparently. Because that's exactly what happened.

And while the Fetherstonehaughs might not have been able to squash the story, they made sure that she got the blame. Press conferences will held with the whole family, with Mr Fetherstonehaugh sombre and repentant.

And the story quickly became one of a wanton hussy using the grief of a good but weakwilled man to tempt him with the apple.

And for the second time Miss Tyndall's life fell apart.  She was unceremoniously expelled from the guild, Cyril broke off all contact, the press hounded her and, most devastatingly, her family decided that they weren't prepared to have their middle class respectability compromised by scandal and disowned her.

And Miss Tyndall stands out in a crowd which means it's very hard for her not to be recognised.

And for the past year she's been in hiding, dreaming of the day she gets revenge on not only the Fetherstonehaughs but every single aristocrat.  For her experiences have made her less idealistic, more cynical, more realistic. And now she understands that the Fetherstonehaughs are merely a small bite of a rotten apple.  Indeed, studies have suggested to her that poor Hilton was killed by a vampire. And what are vampires if not aristocrats taken to their logical conclusion.

She's ready for revenge, she's ready for revolution. And a recent invitation from “Mr Cohen” is one that has more than captured her interest.
And you look like a star but you're still on the dole

faceknives

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Re: The Tragic Tale of Miss Tyndall
« Reply #1 on: February 20, 2019, 02:36:28 PM »
Today I met my new comrades.

It is good of Mr Cohen to find me this.  Too long has gone without revenge on the decadent slugs who rule this damned city.  My group were shockingly informal, even calling each other by their Christian names!  Despite my committment to the cause, it seems I still have much to learn about the social norms of the revolutionary movement. Still, my new colleagues were kind enough not to mention my disgrace, despite the fact I am sure they must all be aware of it.

From what I know of revolutionary theory I would put this group strictly in the nihilist camp.  They were uninterested in revolutionary speeches, being more focused on explosives and plans that involve blood. This suits me fine. There is more than enough time to build the new Jerusalem after we burn London to the ground.  For now, destruction is the primal and necessary urge. Perhaps they could do with a somewhat more focused understanding of the propaganda of the deed.  But I am a newcomer to the group and it would be impolite of me to raise it at this point.

I have some impressions of the other comrades involved but I am sure these will be revised in time.

Peter - Peter is obviously a man from a comfortable background much like myself, which is interesting. He is also the leader of the group.  So far I am unconvinced either way on his competence. He seems knowledgeable but he rearranged our activity at the last moment, for reasons unsure.  He keeps mispronouncing my name, but that is merely a niggle and I need not say anything.

Violet - An unbashed libertine.  Violet is coarse, unladylike, vulgar and entirely unashamed to flaunt her (admittedly impressive) charms.  I rather like her. If I am honest with myself I rather envy her free spirited nature.  Still, I have had enough scandal for both this and the next lifetime. So it would be best if she turned her sapphic attentions elsewhere.

Rose - The twin sister of Violet and some kind of alchemist I believe.  She would look like Violet, if not for the unfortunate state of her face.  I pity her but not openly as she does not strike me as the type of lady who would welcome that emotion.  She seems good at her skills and apparently is familiar with the art of the sniper. (While I generally look down on the use of firearms I admit they can be useful in this context). She has been polite enough, although she is more professional and less warm than her sister.  Her name rings a bell of familiarity but I cannot place from where I might know it.

Magnus - A doctor.  Again, it surprises me that this group contains so many of the middle orders. I would have expected more men of toil in a revolutionary cell!  Magnus is quiet and reserved, much like myself.  The rest of the group seem to like him, but I have picked up a certain level of tension there.  Perhaps there is more to him than meets the eye? Perhaps he dabbles in the forbidden arts so popular in the penny dreadfuls Mama always forbade me to read?

Fog - He is Prussian, although that is not his fault.  A striking gentleman, surprisingly good at the arts of the burglar for one so large. He is a newcomer like myself and still seems to be settling in.  But what is a Prussian doing in a British revolutionary cell?  This is not a question I currently know the answer to, but I record it for posterity.
And you look like a star but you're still on the dole

faceknives

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Re: The Tragic Tale of Miss Tyndall
« Reply #2 on: March 05, 2019, 10:47:41 AM »
I had bread and cheese for breakfast.  I find it is best to work on a light stomach.

It went well I think, despite complications.  I have never killed someone living before. It is odd how unaffected I feel by it; neither distraught nor proud. It just is.  Is this the attitude of a revolutionary? I do not know.

In general, my companions seem competent. Fog is obviously a coward, but one expects that from a burglar. Miss Violet should possibly see an exorcist, as I suggested to her sister.  There is something strange about Magnus, as I thought, but I still don't know what it is. It matters little; a doctor can be forgiven some mental instability. They see much and do not have my training.

I should sleep. The night grows weary. I look forward to tomorrow's papers with interest.
And you look like a star but you're still on the dole

faceknives

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Re: The Tragic Tale of Miss Tyndall
« Reply #3 on: March 19, 2019, 02:38:39 PM »
A welcome rest, as some research was needed. I left this to my companions; while I have some academic knowledge it is too specialised for this project. Miss Rose seemed flushed on her return. Perhaps she found something she wishes not to share.

Instead I spent time sharing a coffee with Miss Violet and the Prussian.  The latter seemed to relax somewhat, perhaps English tea is too sophisticated for his tastes, containing neither sausages or cabbage.

Miss Rose suggested we work with vampires.  I raised my voice somewhat. It ashames me to have lost my temper so, despite the obvious idiocy of her suggestion.
And you look like a star but you're still on the dole

faceknives

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Re: The Tragic Tale of Miss Tyndall
« Reply #4 on: May 16, 2019, 08:58:11 PM »
The extraction went well I feel.  In some ways it is unfortunate that Hastings escaped into the oblivion of death. I would rather he had not. He was a vulgar horrid little man and died in a squalid manner as befitted his life.

It was necessary to put down Magnus or whichever persona she was containing at the time. A shame, but these things happen.  I needed a new filter as the one I had was damaged in the fight.

I must remember to get more tea.

The fools I work with are still use... no. I do not think like that. That is not me speaking.  I do not love my work colleagues, but I do not despise them either.

I should remember to pick up a paper tomorrow, I am out of touch with the theatre reviews. I used to like the theatre, although I have lost interest recently. Perhaps it is the drama of real life?

I think I should be upset about my face but I am not.  It is only meat after all.

I feel restless.  Perhaps an early night would help.
And you look like a star but you're still on the dole