Page 20 of The Duke of Ruin
"There's a messenger from Southampton, Captain," the boy said nervously, "He says that the tar you think blew upThe Elizabethis being held at the Port. He was caught trying to board a ship to France."
The Captain glanced at Ruan speculatively.
"Is this something you wish me to deal with, your Grace?"
"No," Ruan shook his head slowly; he didn't want anyone else dealing with the villain, bar him. He had plans aplenty for the cur, plans which included running him through with a sword, or flaying him alive with a whip.
"But, the Duchess?"
"I'll look after that," Ruan brushed away his Captain's concerns. He still had a few friends in Cornwall, and he could think of one who would be perfect for keeping an eye on his runaway bride until he returned.
"Find my valet," Ruan instructed the young cabin boy, "Have him ready the horses. Black meet me outside in half an hour, I'll want you there to help identify the man...and to hold me back in case I try to strangle the blighter before he tells me who hired him."
Ruan stalked from the Captain's room to his own; he needed to pen a quick letter before he left, with instructions to his friend to not let Olive out of their sight until he returned. And then --he smiled-- then he would take his errant wife over his knee if he had to, to convince her to come home.
What a difference a fortnight could make. Liv, Jane and Sally the housemaid seconded from Jarvis House, had spent two weeks furiously scrubbing, cleaning and dusting the boarding house so that it sparkled. They had polished the sweeping staircase in the entrance hall, so that the mahogany wood took on a warm, reddish shine. They had dusted the cobwebs from the library, and when they moved the settee inside, Liv could actually envision the saloons being held there. And then, when the beds in all the rooms were dressed with fresh linen, the guests began to trickle in.
The first to arrive were the Hamerstone twins, Miss Poppy and Miss Alexandra. Identical down to their very toes, they were a high-spirited pair, and Liv adored them from the off.
"Gemini!" Poppy exclaimed, as they were ushered through the door. "It looks just the same as it did in Mrs Baker's days."
"Only better," Alexandra interjected as she beamed at Olive, and dropped her bags on the rug,before twirling around and bouncing with excitement. The twins were trailed by their aunt Augusta Hamerstone, who looked exhausted after the long coach journey. Olive couldn't blame her; if this was what the twins were like after three days ensconced inside a cramped carriage, then she was sure they'd be twice as sprightly when well rested.
"You're the first guests to arrive," Olive explained, as she led the trio upstairs to their suite of rooms. "We're expecting a full house by week's end."
And indeed by the time Saturday evening arrived, the boarding house had a no vacancies sign hung outside its door. The other guests were an eclectic mix of authors, historians, musicians and philosophers. Most were ladies who elsewhere would have been dubbed spinsters, but in St. Jarvis found sanctuary from society's labels. The only man amongst their ranks was a Mr Alastair Jackson, a very serious young fellow of thirty, who wore spectacles which magnified his eyes and gave him the appearance of a startled bug. Which was quite apt, as Mr. Jackson was involved in the business of entomology, which a rather flustered Jane explained was the study of insects.
"He's a genius," she whispered to Olive, as she helped her prepare tea in the kitchen. Jane's face was beet red, as it was wont to turn when she was discussing Mr. Jackson, and she wore the look of an excited puppy. Her movements were jerky, and as she made to pour milk into the small serving jug, she spilled the pail all over the flagstone floor.
"Oh, no!" Jane exclaimed, hopping out of the way of the encroaching puddle of milk, "Look how stupid I am."
Her face, already pink, was wreathed in dismay. Tears welled up in her eyes, visible even behind her glasses, and Liv gave her a comforting pat on the elbow.
"There's no use fretting over shed milk," Liv gently consoled her, dropping a dishcloth to the floor and wiping it on the puddle with the toe of her boot. "No harm done to either of us, or your pretty slippers, and that's the most important thing!"
"But there'll be none for breakfast," Jane wailed, wringing her hands in despair. It was true, the pail which held the milk for the breakfast was now empty, its contents having been completely emptied onto the floor, but Liv shrugged lightly.
"I'll just bring the trays into the library," she said evenly, lifting a heavy tray up easily, "And then I shall run down to Mr. Lawless at the tavern, he's bound to lend me a jug until tomorrow."
"Oh, no let me," Jane protested passionately, "If you go, you'll miss Mr. Jackson's lecture on the Hemipetra species of insects he's been studying at the cove."
"Oh, drat," Liv struggled to sound genuinely remorseful in response to her friend's scholarly enthusiasm. "You stay Jane, then you can relay back to me what he says, you've a far better memory than I."
Liv said this very firmly, and there was a grain of truth in her statement. Jane would remember Mr. Jackson's lecture far better than Liv would, for Jane would avidly hang on the entomologist's every word, whereas Liv would struggle to keep her eyes open. Let alone her ears.
Firmly she prodded her friend into the library and set about serving the tea to her guests, before discreetly excusing herself to fetch the milk. The boarding house was situated at the top of the steep hill on which St. Jarvis was built. The village was made up of one main street, comprising of quaint houses and shops all leaning against each other. The steep road wound down to a small cove, where a few small fishing boats were moored. Liv pulled her shawl tightly around herself, to ward off the cool evening's breeze, as she scurried toward The Fisherman's Friend, the one and only tavern in the tiny village.
She welcomed the break that the walk granted her, for the past few days had been frantic, filled with serving her guests, as well as attending to the cleaning of their rooms. Liv rose at dawn and did not go to bed again until all her guests had retired for the night. She needed more help; Jane was good to her, but unused to domestic activities, and quite scatterbrained despite her obvious intelligence.
"Here she is," Mr Lawless called as Liv pushed open the stiff, saltwater-swollen door ofThe Fisherman's Friend. A group of weather beaten fishermen were perched on stools at the long bar, which took up most of the space in the tiny tavern.
"Mrs Black," they mumbled in unison, raising their tankards in greeting to her. Liv rather enjoyed her status as a widow. In Frome she had always been the daughter of the local Lord, and the villagers -- while outwardly deferential -- had never sought her friendship, or aired their honest opinions. In St. Jarvis, however, she had found the local population more than friendly, eager to take her under their wing.
"Gentlemen," she said with a stiff nod of greeting, befitting of a widow, "I hope the evening finds you well."
"It's much brighter now that you're here," Mr Lawless beamed, throwing the dishrag in his hands over his shoulder. "What can I do for you Mrs Black? A pint of bitter?"
"No,thank you." Liv gave a self conscious smile, " I wondered if I could borrow a pail of milk until tomorrow?"
