The Princess and the Captain Read Free Page B

washerwomen’s gossip told him all he needed to know about preparations for the wedding. And unlike them, he would be there. The following evening he’d be able to look at the basins of water, the lanterns and the Princess at his leisure.
    Unless he decided to stay away … after all, he was only a substitute guest. It was his father, Captain Hannibal McBott, who had been officially invited. But when the Coronador heard that Hannibal was too unwell to go out, he had invited Orpheus instead.
    â€˜A representative of the proud McBott line of seafaring men!’ said Orpheus out loud, remembering the Coronador’s precise words. He shrugged his shoulders, vexed. If I’m supposed to be representing seafaring men I ought to be a sailor myself, he thought.
    At that moment he heard laughter. Absorbed in his thoughts,he had forgotten the presence of the washerwomen. They had heard him muttering, and now they were looking down at him from their rooftops.
    â€˜It’s our shy young beau!’ cried one of them teasingly.
    â€˜How sad he looks this evening!’ commented another.
    â€˜Dear me!’ said the third, giggling. ‘Do you think he’s gone mad, talking to himself like that?’
    They chuckled as they saw Orpheus blush. Before he had time to move away, the youngest boldly blew him a kiss, saying, ‘Come up and see us next time instead of spying on us from down there!’
    Heart thudding and forehead moist, Orpheus quickly closed his window. So they’d noticed him there evening after evening, without ever giving any sign of it! They’d even called him ‘our shy young beau’!
    He felt absolutely ridiculous.
    He was always at a complete loss anyway when a woman spoke to him. No doubt it was lack of practice, because he had never lived in female company. His mother had died soon after he was born, and after that the only woman his father would tolerate in the house was Berthilde, a dried-up old maidservant who spent her time grumbling and polishing the furniture.
    Orpheus had always both admired and feared the glances of girls. Their beauty cast him into dreadful confusion. However, nothing would have been easier than to silence this bevy of gossips: he’d only have to stay cool and composed, assume a swaggering pose, and tell them that he was going to the Citadel the next day as a distinguished guest. That would have shown them who they were dealing with. Instead of which he was still making them laugh! And that kiss! What an insult.
    Feeling injured, Orpheus left his bedroom in haste and wentdown to the sitting room on the ground floor of his house. It was a dark room, with its only window looking out on the other side of the road; he felt sure none of the washerwomen could see him from there.
    When he went over to his armchair he saw that once again Zeph had failed to obey him. The big dog was rolled up in a ball, obviously deaf to all threats.
    â€˜Get off!’ growled Orpheus. ‘That’s my chair you’re in.’
    The St Bernard vaguely opened one eye.
    â€˜On your rug!’ said Orpheus sternly. ‘Stay on your RUG!’
    The animal merely opened his other eye. In the end Orpheus had to pull him off the chair by his paws before he could sit there himself.
    The St Bernard really belonged to his father, and had accompanied him on all his voyages. But when the Captain fell ill he had given the dog to Orpheus. ‘Zephyr’s too old,’ Hannibal explained. ‘When I see him dragging his carcass about from room to room I get the impression he’s imitating me. It depresses me.’
    Orpheus could refuse his father nothing, so he had taken the depressing dog into his own house. However, he couldn’t get used to the ridiculous name of Zephyr. How could an old, semi-paralytic St Bernard be called after a soft, balmy west wind? In private Orpheus shortened it to Zeph. Anyway, Zeph was a contrary dog.
    At heart Orpheus was torn