An Island of the Imagined

The pale moonlight is unusually bright tonight, the lake…shiny and still underneath it’s glare, almost surrounds the stately old house, high in the hills. The Brookenshire is it’s name. It is one the finer houses, and surrounded by trees and other smaller keeps. Town folk often scuttle about, breathing in the deep country air, and working hard at their tasks. The more lordly of the people, of course, sit high and proud in their fine houses, while ordering their servants (mainly town folk) about with great dignity.
“The ladies tea”, often transpires weekly in the Spencer’s’ garden, but is more fondly labeled as “the ladies gossip”.
Overall, the island of Durham is a friendly one. One, that is not without its eccentrics…such as Willy Dapper, the 60 year old man who refuses to cut his hair, and names his small cottage “The Lion’s Den”, swearing that the first person to enter without knocking will be doomed to die a tragic death.
Then, of course, there are the gossips that will often will be found in the company of Greta, and Nora Spencer, two old sisters who never married…and probably couldn’t have if they wanted to. If you were ever trying to commit a sin, it was not recommendable or at all wise to carry it out anywhere near the Spencer’s’ or their house…for it was said, their large noses could literally smell a wicked thought.