Her Master and Commander

by Karen Hawkins

  The harsh knock sounded again, but this time the door opened and Mrs. Fieldings said in her usual flat tone, “Rise, madam. The cock’s done crowed.”

  Prudence groaned as the last image of the captain dissipated into wakefulness. She rolled onto her stomach, hugging her pillow even tighter.

  Mrs. Fieldings threw open the curtains, the light streaming into the room.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Prudence said, pulling the covers over her head, the air brisk with morning chill.

  Mrs. Fieldings calmly peeled back the covers. “Slothfulness doth not put bread upon the table.”

  Prudence hated homilies, especially before breakfast. She opened her eyes to small slits. “Yes, well, not getting enough sleep can—it can, ah, make a fish grumpy.” There. Not quite as pithy as Mrs. Fieldings’s home truth, but it would do.

  The housekeeper sniffed. “You made that up.”

  “I did not,” Prudence said as loftily as she could while still hidden beneath the covers, her eyes barely open. “I heard it from, um, the captain’s men.”

  “Those wastrels. ’Tis time you arose, madam. The early bird gets the worm.”

  Blast it! This was war. Forcing the last vestiges of sleep aside, Prudence sat up. “Last in, first out.”

  Mrs. Fieldings’s sparse countenance tightened. “Lazy hands make merry mischief.”

  “Two in the hand are worth—oh bother!” Prudence swung her legs out of bed, stretching mightily. She mumbled, “I don’t know why I even try. You beat me every time.”

  A faint smirk touched the dour housekeeper’s mouth. “Breakfast is ready. Your mother is already in the dining room.” She poured some fresh water into the china bowl on the washstand, placed a clean hand towel beside it, and left.

  Prudence found her slippers and rammed her feet into them, then made her way to the bowl. She washed her face and hands, scrubbing hard at her lips where they still tingled as if the kisses had been real. She looked in the mirror and found herself smiling. It had been a long time since she’d dreamed of anyone other than Phillip. “It’s about time,” she told herself.

  Not, of course, that the captain was the sort of man for a romance. He was dark, dangerous, and unruly. Still, he was pleasant to dream about. That was all some men were good for.

  Smiling at her own nonsense, she took off her night rail, unbraided her hair and ran a comb through it, then pinned the long locks up on her head. Her hair was unfashionably long, the thick strands brushing the tops of her hips. She supposed she should have it cut, but somehow, she never did.

  The sun shone warmly into the room, belying the chilled wind that rattled the shutters. Prudence stood in the warming beam and pulled a round gown of pink muslin over her head and tied it securely.

  Odd that she’d awoken, dreaming of the captain. And not just thinking about him, but dreaming about him…about his eyes, that odd green color and intense. About the shape of his lips when he’d flashed that one swift smile that had sent her senses reeling. About how those very lips had covered hers and delivered the most passionate, unique kiss she’d ever—

  She covered her face and shivered. Before now, she’d always thought Phillip’s kiss had been wonderful, gentle and tender, just like him. Her chest tightened at the thought. How could she compare a dream kiss from a man like the captain—a kiss that held less meaning than a scrap of torn paper—to a kiss from Phillip, who had been her husband and best friend?

  Still…now that she thought about it, Phillip had never kissed her like the kiss in her dreams, with such passion and focus. Of course, that was probably because of the type of man the captain was. When she was with him, she felt as if his entire energy was directed at her and no one else. As if only she and he existed in that moment, even if he was irked with her about his sheep. Phillip had never made her feel that way, and yet…she had loved Phillip. Dearly.

  It was a sign that the feelings she had for the captain were simple lust.

  Heavens! She was losing her mind. Thinking was obviously not a good thing to engage in before breakfast. Hunger was warping her usual calm logic. Before she tackled weighty thoughts—or at least thoughts that had anything to do with one very masculine, very irritating sea captain and his wayward sheep, she’d have a nice breakfast and some tea. Yes, that was what she needed.

  And after that…why, after that, she’d take care not to think about him again. Not even once. Yes, that was what she’d do. Besides, she had dozens of things to see to today as it was. She left her room and ran lightly down the stairs, trailing her fingertips on the smooth worn wood.

  It was warmer downstairs. Mother was sitting at the head of the dining-room table, listlessly plucking at the edge of her napkin when Prudence came in.

  “Good morning!” Prudence bent and kissed her mother’s cheek, then took the seat beside her. “I’m sorry I’m so late. I couldn’t wake up this morning.”

  Mrs. Fieldings entered the room and went to the sideboard, lifting the cover off two plates. “Time waits for no man.”

  Prudence sighed. “I think we’ve had enough homilies for one day.”

  Mrs. Fieldings sniffed. She brought the plates to the table and set them before Prudence and her mother with a decided thunk, then marched from the room.

  “Oh dear!” Mother said, looking after the housekeeper. “She is certainly in a mood.”

  Prudence buttered her toast and spread a healthy amount of marmalade over it. “We have a lot to do today. We have to finish the curtains for the back two bedchambers, to get them ready for our boarders.”

  “That is going to take some time.”

  “We should be able to finish one set today if we both work on it. Once that’s done, we must see to getting the barn in more presentable shape. We will eventually need to get another horse besides Elmira.”

  “I hope we will be able to afford one. I quite hate seeing poor old Elmira harnessed to the carriage. She tires so quickly.”

  “We will be able to afford it. I’m certain we will. Mother, I have been thinking. Perhaps our school should specialize in something.”

  Mother poured cream into her cup. “Goodness, you are full of ideas this morning! You must have slept very well indeed.”

  Somehow, Prudence’s dream had revitalized her in some way. She shrugged. “I just want to help.”

  “Oh, you are, dear! I couldn’t do anything without you. What is your idea?”

  “The other seminaries for girls specialize in something. Mrs. Ashton’s Select Seminary believes theatrical productions produce a becoming confidence and they perform several tasteful plays each term. Lady Barkstow’s Academie for Ladies has its own horse trainer. Every girl is given a horse on arriving, and the school promises that they will all be capital horsewomen by the time they leave.”

  “Horses?” Mother put down her fork. “That sounds rather expensive.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting we do the same thing as the other schools,” Prudence said quickly. “But we must find our own specialty so we can convince good families to bring their daughters here and not elsewhere. We could provide a combination of the gentler arts and some good, healthy fresh air activities. We are in the countryside, so perhaps we can turn that to our advantage.”

  Mother sighed a little. “Prudence, I wish we weren’t reduced to this. I love the idea of a school, but I hate that we have to do it. That takes so much of the enjoyment out of it.”

  Prudence pushed herself from the table. “Mother, I am sorry about Phillip’s—”

  Mother put her hand over Prudence’s. “Stop. He didn’t mean to leave things in such a state.”

  “It’s not only the money, but the humiliation of—” Prudence pressed her lips together. “All those people trusted him. He should have realized he was in over his head and not made so many promises.”

  “He was overly optimistic, perhaps. But what he did was not criminal. There should have never been so many people pressing him for funds. And then, to cut us socially�
��” Mother looked down at her plate. “I know that was difficult for you.”

  “For both of us. I thought some of those women were my friends, but they weren’t.” No, her supposed “friends” had believed the lies published in the papers. That Phillip had stolen money from his investors, that she had enticed men to invest. It was horrid and tawdry, and still, after three years, left a horrid taste in her mouth. Worse had been the strain on Phillip of those ugly rumors. He’d grown pale and tense. And then ill. He’d just seemed to waste away before her very eyes.

  She took a sip of tea to stop the tightness from building in her throat. “There is nothing to be gained in reliving the past. Besides—”

  A loud bleating filled the air. Mother and Prudence looked at each other. The bleating came again, louder and much closer this time.

  Mother jumped to her feet and ran to the window, almost pressing her nose to the pane of glass. “Prudence! It’s that same sheep! Eating the tops off all of the winter kelp.”

  “Not the winter kelp!” Prudence tossed her knife and fork to the table. “That does it! I am going to the captain’s cottage, only this time—” What could she do? Her mind raced, rejecting plan after plan. Finally, one clear thought danced before her. “I know what I’ll do.

  Mother, I will take that silly sheep to him! Let him put up with it!”

  Mother blinked. “But—”

  Prudence was already out the door. Mother rushed to follow. “Prudence, wait! Don’t go while you are in a dither! You’ll just say something foolish. Finish breakfast, at least.” Mother caught Prudence’s arm and halted her. “You’ll be calmer. You might even have some time to do something with your hair. And while I like that gown, perhaps the blue one with the—”

  “No.” Prudence pulled free, yanked her cape from the hook by the front door and slung it about her shoulders. “It’s time we spoke to the captain in his own language.”

  “Oh dear!”

  Prudence wrapped the muffler about her neck. “I am going to take the captain’s sheep right into his household for a change. See if he likes that!”

  “Prudence, perhaps it would be better if you—”

  But Prudence was already gone, her face set in determined lines. “Captain Llevanth,” she muttered as she marched out the door and toward the sound of the bleating, “ready or not, you are in for a very sheepish morning.”

  Chapter 6

  It is important for your master to command the respect of his peers and neighbors. Anything you can do to assist in this process, however painful it might be, will be to your eventual benefit. Unfair as it is, your service will be judged on his appearance. One gravy spot on his new waistcoat could lead to the loss of a great deal of respect on your part.

  A Compleat Guide for

  Being a Most Proper Butler

  by Richard Robert Reeves

  Prudence rapped a sharp, staccato knock upon the weathered door, her knuckles smarting through her glove. Overhead a lone seagull cried, the sound tossed eerily through the air. The wind whipped a bit colder against the door, stirred her skirts, puffing cold air about her stockinged ankles. Prudence shivered and pulled the collar of her cloak more tightly about her neck.

  Where was the blasted captain? No doubt he was inside, toasty warm beside a fire, and drinking heavily. She’d heard that sailors were wont to do such things.

  Behind her came a loud bleat. She looked over her shoulder to the sheep that was standing docilely enough behind her, tied to her waist by her bright red muffler. “Quiet, Mrs. Fieldings!” For some reason, she’d had to call the sheep something, and somehow the housekeeper’s name had seemed appropriate. There was something about the sheep’s unamused look that reminded her forcibly of Mrs. Fieldings’s usual morning reproachful sternness.

  The wind blew harder and Mrs. Fieldings reached out and nibbled on the edge of the muffler, showing her yellow teeth.

  “Stop that!” Prudence told the animal. “Mother made that for me.”

  Mrs. Fieldings did not look impressed. If anything, she nibbled more.

  “Save it for the captain’s drapes.” Only the morning chill answered this sally. Prudence shivered and knocked again, even harder this time. Still no answer came, though the icy wind played and swirled and she began to feel the cold even more seriously. “Tare and hounds,” she muttered, reaching toward the door and this time, pounding her fist on the hard wood panel. “Where is everyone?”

  The words had scarcely left her lips when the door burst open. But no tall and threatening sea captain glared down at her. Instead, Stevens peered out, blinking rapidly as if just waking. He was wearing a black broadcloth coat over a striped shirt, his hair covered by a kerchief.

  He looked quite “pirately,” pausing mid-yawn when he recognized her. “By the seas, Madam! I thought ’twas a dunner as come to demand the dibs, I did.”

  So, the captain was in bad repair financially, was he? She shouldn’t have been surprised. “I am not a bill collector.”

  “No, indeed ye aren’t, Mrs. Thistlewaite. Can I help ye?”

  “I have come to see the captain.”

  “Oh ho, ye have, have ye? Well, be that as it may, I cannot let ye in. I’m not one as to let a female come havy-cavy into the house without an invite, I ain’t.”

  “I was invited.”

  “By who, might I ask? Surely not the cap’n, for he’d no more let a female within the—” The round man’s face lit up. “Oh now! I know who invited ye! ’Twas John Pewter, wasn’t it?”

  “John—no. I don’t know who that is—”

  Stevens held his hand well over his own head. “About this tall, and with yellow hair tied in a queue, bit of a gimp in his right leg?”

  “I don’t—”

  “I daresay he thought not to leave his name, but ’tis no matter. I sent him to the tavern to find a wench, but if he found ye instead—”

  “No one found me in a tavern!”

  Stevens looked disappointed. “No?”

  “No!”

  “Oh well, then. Pity, though.” He lowered his voice confidentially. “The lads and me thought the cap’n needed some cheerin’ up and so we—” Something must have changed in her expression, for he suddenly reddened and stepped aside. “Never mind that! Just come in. ’Tis too cold to be quibbling over an invite.”

  Warmth beckoned. Prudence took an eager step forward when a sharp yank on the muffler stopped her in her tracks. “Oh, yes! Wait.” She turned around, planted her heels, and pulled with all her might. Bit by bit, head bowed as she resisted every tug, Mrs. Fieldings the sheep walked through the door. The second she stepped over the threshold, some new panic hit her, for she looked around with wide eyes, bleated loudly, then turned, scrambling to get back outside.

  Prudence held on with both hands.

  Stevens yelped. “Gor!”

  There was a loud clatter and two men came running around the corner. One was tall, with a gold ring through his ear, his head bald except for twin tufts of white hair over each ear. He was dressed in a dirty-looking coat over a long white night rail, boots on his feet. The other was short, round, and red-faced, his nose pierced with a gold hoop. He wore an improbably long black shirt over orange breeches.

  The men saw the sheep attempting to escape and they immediately ran toward it. Footsteps sounded and three more men came running from another hallway, all of them as improbably pierced and dressed.

  That was too much for Mrs. Fieldings. She bolted with renewed strength, yanking the muffler from Prudence’s hands and galloping madly away, the red muffler flying behind her.

  “After her, men!” shouted Stephens.

  The men all looked at Prudence.

  She took a hasty step backward. “Not me! The sheep!”

  “Aye!” Stevens snapped. “The sheep! The one wearin’ the muffler!”

  Off they went, a jumble of clothing and effort, elbowing each other at the door and cursing loudly.

  Prudence gasped when she saw one o
f them held a pistol, an evil-looking man with a scarred face and a worn blue coat.

  Stevens must have seen it, too, for he yelled after the marauding herd, “Don’t ye be hurting the poor thing, either! ’Tis the cap’n’s, ye know, and he might be want-in’ to save her for Michaelmas dinner!” He shut the door. “That was a lucky thing, bringin’ that sheep! Thank you very much!”

  Prudence paused. “What do you mean, ‘thank you?’”

  “Aye! ’Twill keep the men busy fer hours. They’re always mopin’ and complainin’ how there’s naught to do. Now they can chase that sheep ’til their noses fall off their faces.”

  Wonderful. She’d brought that blasted sheep all the way from her house and Stevens was happy about it. Blast it all. She could only hope the captain was not so sanguine. “Do you think the men will catch the sheep?”

  “Those nabbers? Lord love ye, missus! O’course they won’t catch it! They couldn’t find a reef on a pure sunny day with a stick, those men. Not that they’re not a good sort, fer they are. They just need a bit of direction, is all. And without me or the cap’n there to guide them, well…I daresay we won’t see some of ’em fer hours. Maybe longer.”

  “I hope they do not hurt the poor thing, though she’s stronger than you might think.”

  “’Tis a wonder ye got her here at all.” He turned and began walking down a narrow corridor. “Come along this way, missus. I’ll take ye to the cap’n.”

  Prudence paused. Should she go? If she did, what would she say? Without the sheep, her purpose was rather…lost. Had she any sense, she’d leave.

  She blinked after Stevens, noting with mounting interest the inside of the cottage. Larger than the one she and Mother had rented, it had far fewer windows and was rather dark. There were two doors into the small hallway, both of which were tightly closed. From beneath one, a thin slice of light appeared. She took a step forward, her gaze glued to the light.

  Stevens planted himself before her. “Ye don’t want to go in there, madam.”

  “Oh. No. Of course not.” She looked at the light. “What’s in there?”