Nell Gwynne's On Land and At Sea by Kage Baker, Kathleen Bartholomew Read Free Book Online Page A

can, with a nice bit of gammon on the side, he says it still ain’t right.”
    “Dear me, how dreadful,” said Mrs. Corvey. “I think this would prove rather a trial for my daughter. If you will pardon the indelicacy, Mrs. Drumm, he must pay you frightfully well, if you are willing to endure such a difficult master.”
    “Not all that well,” said Mrs. Drumm grimly, eying the last sandwich on the plate.
    “And if some other party was to offer you a situation?”
    “It would be duly considered, madam.” Having decided against eating the last sandwich, Mrs. Drumm rose to her feet, took the dish and stopped midway through a curtsey, concluding that there was no point when her knees hurt and she was addressing a blind woman anyway. “I do beg your pardon, madam, but I ought to get back to the kitchen.”
     

     
    Mr. Pickett had apparently not found occasion to quarrel with his gardener. His garden lawn was immaculately sheared in perfect geometric stripes and the hedges shielding the garden from his neighbors were well-tended, vigorous, and gratifyingly tall, providing more than adequate concealment for any strolling couple.
    “It is a splendid sea view, Miss Beatrice, is it not?” said Mr. Pickett, hopefully slipping his arm around Lady Beatrice’s waist. To his great relief, she did not stiffen or withdraw, but rather responded to the liberty with supple compliance.
    “It is an enthralling view,” said Lady Beatrice, looking deeply into his eyes.
    “I reckon the house I’m proposing to build will have a view that beats this one, all the same,” said Mr. Pickett a little breathlessly, for Lady Beatrice’s steady grey gaze was having a distinct effect on his vascular system.
    “I am sure it shall,” said Lady Beatrice. She somehow managed to sway closer, so that the cloud-like silk of her skirts frothed about his legs.
    Experiencing a frisson of irrational happiness, Mr. Pickett continued:
    “A fine view, a fine house in every way. I’m not planning to throw up any little bachelor shack, you understand, Miss Beatrice: I’m intending a real old proper British mansion with room for generations to come. A place where a man might settle down, take a gracious lady to wife, and raise a brood of valiant Englishmen, like a nest of sea-eagles, ever-ready to defend their mother country from vile invaders. Why, nothing would please me more than that our dearly beloved future monarchs might rest confident in the knowledge that as long as the Picketts of Devon live, England’s shores will be safe.”
    “How noble; how brave,” said Lady Beatrice, maintaining eye contact until she felt his arm begin to tremble; at which point she turned and gazed out to sea. She gave a little sigh.
    “Nobility and bravery are both called for, Miss Beatrice,” said Mr. Pickett. “The specter of war may seem far off and unlikely to trouble us, but who can trust those French? And the Spaniard is just as bent on empire as he ever was, however feeble and impotent he may appear. And don’t you think for a minute that those rebels in the former colonies wouldn’t just jump at the chance to get square with us for beating them in the War of 1812.” He glared angrily out to sea, as though to pierce the distance to America, quite unaware that he was gazing in the general direction of France. “Uncouth villains!”
    Lady Beatrice, seeing the light of fanaticism beginning to blaze in his eyes once more, decided it was time to drag his attention back to the matter at hand. Observing the angle of the sunset, she turned in such a way as to allow the streaming golden light to display her charms to their greatest advantage. With wide eyes and parted lips, she gazed upon Mr. Pickett as though he were the hero of her dreams. It had its due effect on Mr. Pickett, who gulped, lurched forward under the irresistible influence of her beauty, and bent her backward in a kiss.
    The embrace went on for some time, so it was fortunate that the garden was,