Inspiration Anthology 22a.pdf

Darwin
England, 1813
“Charley!” came a cry from across the grove. The sunlight cast dappled golden beams from between the trees
that spread their leaves in canopy over the earthy green grass. A little boy, no more than four, crouched amid
the ferns, lost in a world of dirt and flowers and bugs and wonder.
“Charles!” the voice called again “Charles!”, and the child sat up, tiny hands cradling something that the girl
striding across the lawn couldn’t see. “Charley, you need to come in now.”
Charley murmured something, not wanting to be torn away from this
fascinating landscape of which he knew so little. The trees towered over
him like skyscrapers, the grass tickled his hands and feet, and the
curious hues of the insects and flowers kindled a deep curiosity inside
him. The girl reached him and knelt down to where Charley thrust his
hands forward to show off his find.
“Linny, look at this!” he smiled. Caroline bent to inspect her brother’s
prize. Clutched in his hands was a shimmering ladybird, its wings the
deep ruby-red of expensive wine, speckled with black spots. It scuttled
to and fro in the prison of his hands. Most four-year-old would have
crushed the tiny creature, whether by accident, not realising how fragile
and small a ladybird could be, or on purpose, afraid of the way the
insect roamed over their hands. Charley simply watched, enthralled by
even the ordinary. Caroline rolled her eyes, used to her little brother
wandering off to find some creepy-crawly. Yesterday he had come
wandering back to the house with a beautiful flower petal. Their mother
had been delighted. Last week, however, it had been a snail grasped in
his muddy hands, which had elicited shrieks from his mother and sisters.
“Come on Charley, Mama wants us, and Marianne’s made a cake.” Charley stood up, finally relinquishing the
ladybird and letting it fly off into the bushes. Linny brushed the mud off Charley’s shirt, and they began making
their way back up the hill to The Mount, a comfortable Georgian house where the children had all been born.
Drawn in from the garden by the sweet smell of cake that drifted from the open windows of the house, their
siblings Eras and Susan were already inside. They made their way to the conservatory, which was warm and
bright in the summer sun. Marianne, the eldest, came in with a Victoria sponge, the scent of vanilla following
her like a delectable cloud. Curls sparkling golden in the light that filtered through the glass, their sister Emily
Catherine sucked her thumb and looked out at the sprawling gardens as she perched atop an ottoman, her little
feet sticking out straight in front of her. The dusty, cake-scented air paired with the spell of warm weather
created a sleepy atmosphere that was universally associated with those hot summer days, so rare in England,
where everyone feels it would take far too much effort to do anything at all.
Their mother entered in a swirl of lace and red silk, smiling at her children. Marianne placed the sponge in its
pretty glass cake stand on the table and began to cut it as Caroline smoothed down her skirts, eyeing one of her