The Legend of Lyon Redmond Read Free

take to the wide open sea?
    Did a cannibal eat ’im?
    Is he living in Eden
    With Adam and Eve and the Snake?
    Did Miss Eversea scare ’im
    Into the arms of a harem
    Where he lolls about like a sheik?
    Shock reverberated through her as though she’d been driven into the ground with a mallet.
    And all the while the little chorus behind her sang on.
    Someone back there, she thought irrationally, had a lovely baritone.

Chapter 2
    S HE FINALLY, BRIEFLY CLOSED her eyes because the air in front of her was spangling ominously.
    So this is what it feels like right before one faints , she thought distantly.
    She’d never fainted in her life.
    Perhaps she ought to breathe. That’s what lungs were for, after all, and she currently didn’t seem to be using them.
    They were words. Just words. Just words.
    She inhaled deeply.
    Exhaled.
    That was a little better.
    And still the chorus behind her sang on.
    â€œ Madame ,” the man’s insistent voice cut through her daze, which made her realize this likely wasn’t the first time he’d said it. “’Tis two pence for that fine composition in your hand.”
    She opened her eyes.
    She was nearly eye level with a sparkling, shrewd brown gaze. The man’s waistcoat buttons were severely taxed by the majestic arc of his stomach, and two tufts of hair friskily peeked from beneath his beaver hat. She suspected it was all the hair he had left in the world.
    â€œTwo pence, is it? I can see why it’s so dear. It’s an impressive piece. Quite nimbly rhymed.”
    The man glowed. “It’s my own composition, you know. I’m told I’ve a gift. It goes on to explain all the other things Redmond might be doing whilst he’s away.” He leaned over to tap it for emphasis. “Eight verses and counting! I learned about sheiks and crocodiles and the like at a lecture by his brother, Mr. Miles Redmond, the famous explorer.”
    â€œ Quelle irony,” she murmured.
    â€œThe Redmonds are a very accomplished family,” he added proudly, as if he was their personal retainer and the Redmonds kept a staff troubadour to chronicle their lives.
    â€œThey are, indeed,” she agreed smoothly. “Tell me, do sheiks, in fact, ‘loll’? You see, I was unable to attend that particular lecture by Mr. Miles Redmond.”
    â€œWell, I cannot say for certain. I confess I called upon my imagination for that bit, and the word ‘loll’ is rather musical, don’t you think?”
    â€œIt paints a picture. I fear I must take issue with your first verse, however.”
    He bristled. “On what authority do you speak? Are you a poetess?”
    â€œI’m Olivia Eversea.”
    He froze.
    His eyes darted with hummingbird speed over her face.
    He made a frantic chopping motion in the general direction of the choir behind him.
    They clapped their mouths shut.
    The sudden quiet seemed deafening.
    And then he whipped off his hat so quickly the ribbons on her bonnet fluttered. He clapped it over his heart and bowed like he’d been felled by an axe.
    â€œCor, is that so now?” he said when he was upright again. “Pleased I am to make your acquaintance, Miss Eversea. Ye’re prettier than a spring day.”
    â€œClearly hyperbole is your special gift, Mr.—”
    â€œPickles.”
    â€œMr. Pickles.”
    She fixed him with stare that distilled centuries of excellent breeding and money and arrogance and intelligence and grace.
    To his credit, shamed scarlet slowly flooded into his cheeks.
    â€œI am sorry about the ‘dry up and blow away’ bit,” he muttered sheepishly. “I wrote it before we met, you see.”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œAnd I thought it lent pathos.”
    â€œIt does give the song a certain dramatic structure, as it were,” she acknowledged.
    Her ears were still ringing from shock and her hands were icy. She probably ought to sit down.