Barbara Metzger Read Free

last at Perry’s bachelor rooms at the Albany, Chase’s temporary “home,” but Adler understood.
    “Staffordshire’s too far,” he told Chase, “and the roads are in deplorable condition this time of year, in the middle of the thaws. You’ll get there soon.”
    “Perhaps, perhaps,” the captain answered.
    They were relaxed in worn old leather armchairs near the fire, waiting for dawn. Kenley held a glass; Perry’d stopped drinking hours ago, lest his sick friend have to tend to
him.
He couldn’t understand what was keeping Chase awake, much less alert, unless it was his unpleasant thoughts.
    “Do you know how many times I’ve faced death?” Chase asked, more to himself than to Perry, who merely went “hmm.” Chase rambled on: “I’d rather face a hundred battles than this…this…”
    “Not to worry, you’ll be back at the helm of some warship soon enough. The Admiralty couldn’t get on without you hero types.”
    “No, I’ve decided to sell out, either way.” Kenley snorted. “Can you imagine a blind sea captain? If, on the other hand, things go well, I’ll have to take my brother’s place in Staffordshire, for all that I know about husbandry. It’s amazing how fate gets so quirky, isn’t it? My brother was born to the land. He knew every inch of that estate and all the tenants. I swear he knew the name of every pig. And
he
drowns in a sailing accident. On a blasted lake!”
    Chase reached over to the cluttered table between them to refill his glass. His eye caught the mound of currency and notes scattered there.
    “All of my, ah, affairs are in order, Perry, but if anything…you know. You keep this. Send the property back to that old curmudgeon, but keep the money.”
    “Dash it, man, I don’t need your blunt.”
    “Of course you don’t, but old Harwood would only gamble it away again anyway. Have a party. Yes, I’d like that. A bright, noisy party with champagne and pretty girls.” Chase reached for the decanter again. After he’d filled his glass, he picked up another bottle, but this one was mounted on its side, with a replica of the ship
Invicta
encased within. “At least I won’t face this day sober,” he said, as the glass slipped from his limp fingers to the floor. The ship-in-a-bottle, however, stayed tenderly cradled in his lap.
    Charles Swann, Baron Harwood, went home, too. He closeted himself in his library with his books, bills, and bank statements. Then he blew his brains out, choosing not to face the coming day at all.

Chapter Two
    Miss Meadow believed in treating the young ladies at her select academy with all the care and consideration due their ranks and future social standings. She also, unfortunately, believed in treating the instructors at her fashionable boarding school according to the same standards. This evening, for example, Miss Meadow entertained three of the upper-class students for coffee and dessert in her office/sitting room, designed to accustom them to the polite world they would soon be joining. Correspondingly, Miss Cristabel Swann, the music teacher, sat demurely outside Miss Meadow’s office in the hard chair reserved for those girls awaiting one of the headmistress’s mottoes and precepts lectures.
    One of Miss Meadow’s favorite moral lessons was Moderation. She constantly reminded her young ladies not of Aristotle, but to think small: small steps, small bites, small displays of emotion. A little spirit was acceptable, lest the girls be considered milk-and-water misses. Any wider displays of feeling, loud laughter, distempered outbursts, were as unacceptable as tying one’s garters in public.
    If Moderation was Miss Meadow’s rule for the future duchesses and marchionesses, Less was the motto for their teachers: less time, less money, less privacy, and much less spirit. The girls inside the office wore lace collars on their trim uniforms and colorful ribbons in their hair. Miss Swann wore unrelieved brown bombazine hanging on her