Couplehood was fairly regarded
as the ultimate pinnacle
of one’s existence in Wickshaw.
The widows looked back
upon their matrimony with fondness
even if their necessary mates
left something to be desired.
The spinsters pined for a husband
as if their lives were incomplete.
‘Twas not a written law
that one ought to be wed,
but it was a sentiment
that hung in the air as a
fog might cling to Halloween.

Young maids collected treasures
and hope for their chests
before their first steps.
The lads looked less fondly one their future
until their education was complete.
Upon matriculation,
the switch was then pulled
and then they hunt a lass
with all the tenacity and vigour
as a Retriever to a pheasant.
There were very few gentlemen
that remained unwed
in the placid little village.
Each had their excuse
but all secretly held a desire
to call someone wife.
Save one.

Nathaniel Abervalle
was a man who proclaimed
his stoic independence
from such antiquated
and compulsory social mores.
Never call him Nathan
and if one were to address him as Nate
God help the poor fool,
for this provoked a fire
that shot from his eyes
more fiercely than a dragon.

Sensitive, they called him
and polite to a fault.
His tastes in wine and food
and art and music
far surpassed any his
neighbours ever knew.
Convivial as an host
and a necessity as a guest,
everyone proclaimed his acquaintance
but few, in reality,
admitted him as friend.
His reputation as a citizen
was upright and spotless.
Among his many talents
was the astonishing capacity
to keep his precious secrets.
And secrets he had plenty.
Secrets that might shake
the very foundation of Wickshaw
and even reroute the River Lyddle

His face was handsome and refined
if a little bit lined.
Sandy blonde – maybe a touch auburn –
hair was starting to grey at the temples.
Most of his stature would have
cringed at this fact,
but Nathaniel was relishing
the latest adornment with pride.
His age was an enigma
for he had lived in the village
for many many years.
But his youthful looks belied
any tales that might be told.

His appearance and his home
boasted of moderate wealth
but no one in Wickshaw
knew where it came from
– no one was allowed to ask –
and his family ties were all but unknown.
His cottage known as The Havens
sat quietly and pompously
at the top of the village green
a little removed
as to keep its privacy intact.

It had a small garden in front
and a larger one in back,
each impeccably groomed –
as was the master of the house.
Nathaniel was always suited
for the any occasion
as any gentleman would be
and never without his walking stick
and his signature watch
dangling on its fob.

He enjoyed his status as the
Ever Confirmed Bachelor
or Gentleman of a Certain Age
for the air of mystery it did inspire
was exactly to his liking.

Read more about The Village

An Ordinary Place
The Butcher
Love So Green
The Recipe Club
The Coy and Lovely Maid