OOC: One of P’Mala’s diversions is this holonovel, “Blakemoor Manor.” Feel free to jump in! The idea is, 1889 England. Lord Arthur Graham and his wife Jane have recently lost their son, Edgar. Anything is game! Feel free to make up characters in the novel, have your main join, etc!

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It was 0400 hours, and P’Mala hoped most everyone would be asleep as she ducked out of her quarters in full costume, carrying a soft leather pouch. She took the turbolift to Deck 5 and entered her program into the computer.

=V= BLAKEMOOR MANOR =V=

When P’Mala stepped through the Holodeck doors, she knew exactly where she’d last left the program: She was in the stone kitchen larder of Blakemoor Manor, 1889, near Hereford, England. The estate consisted of a large working farm, the acres of forest hunting ground, and a small pleasure lodge, part of the holdings of Lord Arthur Graham and his wife Jane.

P’Mala wore a plain blue linen dress, a white apron and scullery maid’s hat. Though the 6-foot tall half-Vulcan certainly would have been out of place here, the inhabitants of this program knew her as a Welsh girl, Hanna. P’Mala had been a part of this household off and on for five years, though only one had passed in the simulation. Hanna was a routine part of its inhabitants’ lives.

Quickly, methodically, P’Mala entered the scullery room from the larder and began scouring the dishes in the sink, using the hot water boiling on the fire–one of the other girls’ jobs was to prepare this for her.A thin grey-haired woman with a severe bun and silver pince-nez glasses entered the space: Mrs. Lloyd, the head cook and part-time lady’s maid to the mistress of the house, Lady Graham.

“Hanna, dove! Back from your folks so soon?” Mrs. Lloyd asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” P’Mala said, scrubbing goose grease from a large pot. “I just returned. How are my lord and her ladyship?”

“Right blue, still yet,” the older woman sighed, her face downcast. “They both aren’t eating. They should be in London, but instead, they’ve decided to keep the lodge open for another month.”

The Graham’s young son, Edgar, had recently died from scarlet fever.

“Mrs. Lloyd,” P’Mala said, “I’ll get the tea on for us and we can get upstairs’ breakfast together. You go on and get check on the family.”

The older woman left. P’mala finished her dishes and put a kettle on. Then, she thought she heard the holodeck doors whoosh open.

“Computer, pause program,” she said.

• Ensign P’Mala Dawes