Wild West Beatrice surveyed the ruined workroom in silence.
“I’m sorry,” said Evie, making a start on righting chairs, and picking up torn silks. It was a mystery to her, but somehow every single guy she dated turned out to be an outlaw on the run, or an inventor with theories about flight or combustion engines, or something equally disastrous. The Eliott Sisters’ Fashion Emporium had been forced to move up and down Main Street at least five times by now as a result.
Bea merely glared. It was clearly going to take a while to win her over again. “I suppose at least this one didn’t shoot the dressmaker’s dummy or blow the place up on his way out!”
Coffee Shop “She’s being unreasonable again,” said Evie. “Can’t you tell her, Jack? I mean, here I am, working on the perfect new holiday flavour and she never seems to understand that it’s an art. It takes time! She’s always going on at me for not serving the customers, and I can’t do both.”
Jack backed away. “I think you two need to sort it out between you.”
“Coward,” said Evie, but she grinned. “Oh, I expect you’re right, but sometimes she’s impossible!”
Shapeshifters From a very young age, Mother had impressed upon Beatrice the need to keep their abilities secret. Looking back, she thought she had not ever truly needed telling. She had made Evie promise the same, although secrecy came harder for her younger sister. If Father knew, though, there would be no more escape in midnight adventures, slipping through the undergrowth. A hedgehog and black cat weren’t the most powerful alternative shapes, but it was freedom of a sort, and Bea couldn’t have lived without it.
Fantasy/Fairy Tale Evie lay awake at nights, fantasising about the two of them running away from their father’s grim castle. From the window of their tower, she and Bea could see the carriages going to and from the palace every time the King held a ball. One day, they’d escape – one day they’d make the ball gowns for princesses themselves. Maybe one day, Evie thought, although she kept this dream private, she’d even get to dance with a prince herself.
But of course, sometimes princes came in strange guises, and this one wasn’t meant for her…
. . . In SPACE!! “Are you sure about this?” said Bea, drawing back from hugging Evie at the spaceport.
Evie nodded and hugged Bea again. “Stop worrying, Bea. It’s all settled – there is going to be a new branch of the House of Eliott on board that space station – and, what’s more, it’s going to be a huge success!”
Apocalypse Sheltered as they were, Bea had never even heard of Mr Wells’s tales, let alone contemplated the ridiculous idea that they could be based on reality. It seemed that was a mistake a lot of people had made. Now, she and Evie watched the smoke of the city burning from the windows, while Father barred the doors downstairs. Evie filled her notebooks with sketches of the fire’s glow, the silhouettes of alien creatures framed amongst it. Bea helped her smuggle them out and bury them in the garden in a tin.
“Maybe,” said Evie, “it’ll be something left for someone. Some day. Maybe it’ll be all right, after all. Maybe they won’t bother with us here.”
Bea could hear the earth shaking. She held onto Evie, and prayed that the end would not be too long in coming.
Schoolfic “Arthur Eliott,” said Beatrice, “if you sneak on Evie one more time, I’ll make you sorry you were ever born.”
Police/Firefighters/Medical “I see what you mean,” said DI Beatrice Eliott of the Metropolitan Fashion Police, on the subject of their latest case. “Those trousers! How did he ever think he was going to get away with it?”
“I know,” said DS Eliott. “I mean, orange – it’s almost impossible to pull off even at the best of times. But if it hadn’t been for Miss Watkins here making a citizen’s arrest, we might never have found him in time.”
Tilly Watkins beamed. “Oh, it was nothing, Sergeant. I mean, he couldn’t go wandering around like that, could he? It’d have been violet crimes next or something even worse. Somebody had to stop him.”
“Quite, Tilly,” said the DI, and gave her an honorary Fashion Police badge in reward.
Supernatural Ever since she was little, Evie had claimed that the attic rooms were haunted. Bea had thought it was only a story – Evie was always far too imaginative for her own good – but even when Evie got older, she still insisted the ghost story was true.
One night, when Evie had been more than usually upset by a row with Father, Bea had stayed with her, till she fell asleep, when she heard something like footsteps above. There were no servants in the house, only the family. Father didn’t run to such luxuries as housemaids – only Molly who came in daily to cook and clean. Bea held her breath and listened. Whatever it was sounded far too heavy to possibly be mice. Could it be possible there was a ghost?
Bea picked up her candle and set out to find out. Whatever it was, it was soon going to regret bothering her young sister, that much she could promise…
Regency Wherever society portrait painter Jack Maddox went lately, people kept talking to him about a couple of exquisite new modistes. It was very tiresome, and they weren’t even French, which might have at least piqued his interest for a short while.
“They’re all the rage,” the Hon Daphne Haycock assured him.
He removed her glass of wine. “And you’re drunk.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?” said Daphne, looking faintly surprised that he should comment on the fact. “But they’re both charming and so highly talented! You should paint them as Muses and hang them in – well, in some stuffy gallery or other. It’d make your fortune.”
“I doubt it,” said Jack. “Besides, I’m tired of painting portraits. I’m thinking of giving it up. And I’m not interested in lady milliners!”
A resolution he was sure he would have kept, had it not been for his sister’s interference. Penelope arrived on his doorstep at some unearthly hour very next morning with a face as long as a wet winter.
“Oh, Jack. Hello,” she said, pushing past him as he opened the door, paying not attention to his dishevelled state. He doubted that even if he’d told her he’d barely been home for three hours, if that, she’d only tell him that was his own fault. “Much as I hate to admit it, I need your help. As it seems I am obliged to attend this appallingly wasteful charity ball, I suppose I must have something suitable to wear!”
“Anything for the orphans of Whitechapel,” Jack said. It seemed he would be investigating the Sisters Eliott, after all.
“Fallen women,” said Penelope with a glare. “Not orphans.”
Bea & Evie AUs
Beatrice surveyed the ruined workroom in silence.
“I’m sorry,” said Evie, making a start on righting chairs, and picking up torn silks. It was a mystery to her, but somehow every single guy she dated turned out to be an outlaw on the run, or an inventor with theories about flight or combustion engines, or something equally disastrous. The Eliott Sisters’ Fashion Emporium had been forced to move up and down Main Street at least five times by now as a result.
Bea merely glared. It was clearly going to take a while to win her over again. “I suppose at least this one didn’t shoot the dressmaker’s dummy or blow the place up on his way out!”
Coffee Shop
“She’s being unreasonable again,” said Evie. “Can’t you tell her, Jack? I mean, here I am, working on the perfect new holiday flavour and she never seems to understand that it’s an art. It takes time! She’s always going on at me for not serving the customers, and I can’t do both.”
Jack backed away. “I think you two need to sort it out between you.”
“Coward,” said Evie, but she grinned. “Oh, I expect you’re right, but sometimes she’s impossible!”
Shapeshifters
From a very young age, Mother had impressed upon Beatrice the need to keep their abilities secret. Looking back, she thought she had not ever truly needed telling. She had made Evie promise the same, although secrecy came harder for her younger sister. If Father knew, though, there would be no more escape in midnight adventures, slipping through the undergrowth. A hedgehog and black cat weren’t the most powerful alternative shapes, but it was freedom of a sort, and Bea couldn’t have lived without it.
Fantasy/Fairy Tale
Evie lay awake at nights, fantasising about the two of them running away from their father’s grim castle. From the window of their tower, she and Bea could see the carriages going to and from the palace every time the King held a ball. One day, they’d escape – one day they’d make the ball gowns for princesses themselves. Maybe one day, Evie thought, although she kept this dream private, she’d even get to dance with a prince herself.
But of course, sometimes princes came in strange guises, and this one wasn’t meant for her…
. . . In SPACE!!
“Are you sure about this?” said Bea, drawing back from hugging Evie at the spaceport.
Evie nodded and hugged Bea again. “Stop worrying, Bea. It’s all settled – there is going to be a new branch of the House of Eliott on board that space station – and, what’s more, it’s going to be a huge success!”
Apocalypse
Sheltered as they were, Bea had never even heard of Mr Wells’s tales, let alone contemplated the ridiculous idea that they could be based on reality. It seemed that was a mistake a lot of people had made. Now, she and Evie watched the smoke of the city burning from the windows, while Father barred the doors downstairs. Evie filled her notebooks with sketches of the fire’s glow, the silhouettes of alien creatures framed amongst it. Bea helped her smuggle them out and bury them in the garden in a tin.
“Maybe,” said Evie, “it’ll be something left for someone. Some day. Maybe it’ll be all right, after all. Maybe they won’t bother with us here.”
Bea could hear the earth shaking. She held onto Evie, and prayed that the end would not be too long in coming.
Schoolfic
“Arthur Eliott,” said Beatrice, “if you sneak on Evie one more time, I’ll make you sorry you were ever born.”
Police/Firefighters/Medical
“I see what you mean,” said DI Beatrice Eliott of the Metropolitan Fashion Police, on the subject of their latest case. “Those trousers! How did he ever think he was going to get away with it?”
“I know,” said DS Eliott. “I mean, orange – it’s almost impossible to pull off even at the best of times. But if it hadn’t been for Miss Watkins here making a citizen’s arrest, we might never have found him in time.”
Tilly Watkins beamed. “Oh, it was nothing, Sergeant. I mean, he couldn’t go wandering around like that, could he? It’d have been violet crimes next or something even worse. Somebody had to stop him.”
“Quite, Tilly,” said the DI, and gave her an honorary Fashion Police badge in reward.
Supernatural
Ever since she was little, Evie had claimed that the attic rooms were haunted. Bea had thought it was only a story – Evie was always far too imaginative for her own good – but even when Evie got older, she still insisted the ghost story was true.
One night, when Evie had been more than usually upset by a row with Father, Bea had stayed with her, till she fell asleep, when she heard something like footsteps above. There were no servants in the house, only the family. Father didn’t run to such luxuries as housemaids – only Molly who came in daily to cook and clean. Bea held her breath and listened. Whatever it was sounded far too heavy to possibly be mice. Could it be possible there was a ghost?
Bea picked up her candle and set out to find out. Whatever it was, it was soon going to regret bothering her young sister, that much she could promise…
Regency
Wherever society portrait painter Jack Maddox went lately, people kept talking to him about a couple of exquisite new modistes. It was very tiresome, and they weren’t even French, which might have at least piqued his interest for a short while.
“They’re all the rage,” the Hon Daphne Haycock assured him.
He removed her glass of wine. “And you’re drunk.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?” said Daphne, looking faintly surprised that he should comment on the fact. “But they’re both charming and so highly talented! You should paint them as Muses and hang them in – well, in some stuffy gallery or other. It’d make your fortune.”
“I doubt it,” said Jack. “Besides, I’m tired of painting portraits. I’m thinking of giving it up. And I’m not interested in lady milliners!”
A resolution he was sure he would have kept, had it not been for his sister’s interference. Penelope arrived on his doorstep at some unearthly hour very next morning with a face as long as a wet winter.
“Oh, Jack. Hello,” she said, pushing past him as he opened the door, paying not attention to his dishevelled state. He doubted that even if he’d told her he’d barely been home for three hours, if that, she’d only tell him that was his own fault. “Much as I hate to admit it, I need your help. As it seems I am obliged to attend this appallingly wasteful charity ball, I suppose I must have something suitable to wear!”
“Anything for the orphans of Whitechapel,” Jack said. It seemed he would be investigating the Sisters Eliott, after all.
“Fallen women,” said Penelope with a glare. “Not orphans.”