meet Lord Malvain alone, though she suspects he is evil. But I want her to take sensible precautions.”
“Then she ought to take a gun with her,” Coffen said at once.
“She has no access to a gun.”
“Well, a stiff club or an axe, then.”
Prance couldn’t repress a shudder at the image of his gentle Lorraine wielding an axe against her fellowman. “Would a strong young man not manage to get that away from her?” he asked.
“I daresay he would really, but no need for him to in a book.”
“But my aim is realism, so how could she protect herself in real life? What would you do?”
“I ain’t a girl, but if I was, I wouldn’t go to meet him in the first place, and in the second place, I’d have someone hiding at the place I’m to meet him.”
“I thought of that, but there is no one at the Abbey whom she trusts completely.”
“Ain’t there a hero in the book? Couldn’t he suspect a trick? You’ve got to have hero, Reg. You wrecked your Rondeaux by leaving out the lady.”
“There is indeed a hero. Malvain has him locked up in the dungeon, which is why Lorraine feels she must go to meet him.”
“Good, that sounds like you’re on the right track this time with dungeons. You don’t want to make it too real, or no one would bother reading it. Well, if there’s no one she can take with her, and no weapon, she’ll have to depend on her dog.” Coffen pinned him with a bright eye. “You have given her a dog? People like that. Animals, you know, to lend a common touch.”
“It would have to be a big dog.”
“A wolfhound. That’d put the fear of the lord in any villain. I’d show somehow why the dog was especially faithful.”
“Yes, excellent! You mean like Daniel and the lion.”
“I thought we were talking about dogs. I mean make her rescue him, save his life or some such thing. You’ll know how to cross all your eyes and dot your knees to make it exciting.”
“She has a kitten, Minou,” Prance said, suppressing the urge to comment on that frittering of the King’s English.
Coffen felt the familiar rush of annoyance he so often felt when trying to talk to Prance. “Dash it, Reg, a kitten ain’t going to frighten a deep-dyed villain. You’ll have to change it to a big dog. Either that or change the kitten to a tiger,” he said, finishing on an unusual note of sarcasm.
Not suspecting sarcasm from Coffen, Prance considered the suggestion a moment, then said, “You know, that just might work.”
“I thought it was supposed to be real. I don’t know any ladies that keep a pet tiger.”
“Ah, but Lorraine’s uncle is a nabob returned from India, bringing with him not only Indian servants and the usual load of Indian bric-a-brac but a youngish tiger. Thus far in the book Lorraine has been afraid of it, but I could begin with its being a mere cub. I could insert a passage in which she does it some service.”
Coffen looked interested. “Wait, it’s on the tip of my head,” he said. “I’ve got it, she takes a thorn out of its paw.”
“That sort of thing. Not precisely that, of course. Something original.”
“Oh, right. God did that in the Bible. Could the tiger have stepped on a shard of glass?”
“That’s too close to the thorn in the paw. She could feed it when whoever’s looking after it forgot to,” he said, warming to the tiger idea.
“The best reason in the world for it to take a fancy to her,” Coffen said.
“A wild animal would lend the story that exotic touch that had made Byron so popular, but be completely original in a gothic,” Prance continued. “And not impossible when one considers the nabob uncle. As you said, one doesn’t want it to be too every day. It could also lend an aural note of menace to the general background, perhaps roaring at night.”
“That’s real enough. I feel like roaring myself when I wake up hungry in the night.”
Prance fell into silence as he considered the alterations he would have to make to his
“Then she ought to take a gun with her,” Coffen said at once.
“She has no access to a gun.”
“Well, a stiff club or an axe, then.”
Prance couldn’t repress a shudder at the image of his gentle Lorraine wielding an axe against her fellowman. “Would a strong young man not manage to get that away from her?” he asked.
“I daresay he would really, but no need for him to in a book.”
“But my aim is realism, so how could she protect herself in real life? What would you do?”
“I ain’t a girl, but if I was, I wouldn’t go to meet him in the first place, and in the second place, I’d have someone hiding at the place I’m to meet him.”
“I thought of that, but there is no one at the Abbey whom she trusts completely.”
“Ain’t there a hero in the book? Couldn’t he suspect a trick? You’ve got to have hero, Reg. You wrecked your Rondeaux by leaving out the lady.”
“There is indeed a hero. Malvain has him locked up in the dungeon, which is why Lorraine feels she must go to meet him.”
“Good, that sounds like you’re on the right track this time with dungeons. You don’t want to make it too real, or no one would bother reading it. Well, if there’s no one she can take with her, and no weapon, she’ll have to depend on her dog.” Coffen pinned him with a bright eye. “You have given her a dog? People like that. Animals, you know, to lend a common touch.”
“It would have to be a big dog.”
“A wolfhound. That’d put the fear of the lord in any villain. I’d show somehow why the dog was especially faithful.”
“Yes, excellent! You mean like Daniel and the lion.”
“I thought we were talking about dogs. I mean make her rescue him, save his life or some such thing. You’ll know how to cross all your eyes and dot your knees to make it exciting.”
“She has a kitten, Minou,” Prance said, suppressing the urge to comment on that frittering of the King’s English.
Coffen felt the familiar rush of annoyance he so often felt when trying to talk to Prance. “Dash it, Reg, a kitten ain’t going to frighten a deep-dyed villain. You’ll have to change it to a big dog. Either that or change the kitten to a tiger,” he said, finishing on an unusual note of sarcasm.
Not suspecting sarcasm from Coffen, Prance considered the suggestion a moment, then said, “You know, that just might work.”
“I thought it was supposed to be real. I don’t know any ladies that keep a pet tiger.”
“Ah, but Lorraine’s uncle is a nabob returned from India, bringing with him not only Indian servants and the usual load of Indian bric-a-brac but a youngish tiger. Thus far in the book Lorraine has been afraid of it, but I could begin with its being a mere cub. I could insert a passage in which she does it some service.”
Coffen looked interested. “Wait, it’s on the tip of my head,” he said. “I’ve got it, she takes a thorn out of its paw.”
“That sort of thing. Not precisely that, of course. Something original.”
“Oh, right. God did that in the Bible. Could the tiger have stepped on a shard of glass?”
“That’s too close to the thorn in the paw. She could feed it when whoever’s looking after it forgot to,” he said, warming to the tiger idea.
“The best reason in the world for it to take a fancy to her,” Coffen said.
“A wild animal would lend the story that exotic touch that had made Byron so popular, but be completely original in a gothic,” Prance continued. “And not impossible when one considers the nabob uncle. As you said, one doesn’t want it to be too every day. It could also lend an aural note of menace to the general background, perhaps roaring at night.”
“That’s real enough. I feel like roaring myself when I wake up hungry in the night.”
Prance fell into silence as he considered the alterations he would have to make to his
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