Summer Season

13

Summer Season

    Miss Calpurnia and Miss Elizabeth had been invited to join Captain and Mrs Burns in Brighton for the earlier part of the summer. Niners was very surprised at Captain Cutlass’s asking if she would care for it, and ventured, since Mrs Burns had merely suggested that Calpurnia might care to bring one of her sisters, that perhaps Trottie True should have the treat.

    “Ain’t you human, too?” replied Captain Cutlass, grinning.

    “Well, yes!” said Niners with an awkward laugh. “Are you sure?” Captain Cutlass was sure, and Niners, her face lighting up, declared: “I should love it of all things!”

    Captain Cutlass was pretty sure that she would—while Trottie True would have supported it, merely. Not that she would not have liked Mrs Burns very much, and she would certainly not have objected to her gentility, but in the intervals of worrying over her husband’s fate the gentle lady had introduced Captain Cutlass to her own circle, which consisted largely of a clutch of matrons, some of her own age but most of them older, with very silly daughters and extremely silly sons, all falling as firmly within the definition of “Pink” as it was possible for young gentlemen from a small seaside town to do. There was no doubt that Trottie True would be bored to death—whilst Niners wouldn’t even notice the Pinks for examining the china, silver and furnishings of their mammas’ houses!

    And, Julia having achieved the signal triumph of persuading Niners to accept a bran-new blue muslin gown, the two were despatched Brightonwards.

    Brighton had changed a lot since Captain Cutlass’s last visit: the little town was now full of fashionables, a widowed Mrs Murtrey who was a neighbour (and of whom Mrs Burns’s mamma did not, alas, approve), apprising the girls with a chuckle that there was not a lodging to be had in the place and the landladies was a-busting their stays over it; and there was an endless parade past the front windows. In addition, several of the families with the pouting, empty-headed daughters and the dandyish young sons now featured some rather older sons, a couple of them friends of John-John’s who had been hauled from the briny with him. Little Mrs Burns assured the girls with an excited laugh that their social calendar was quite full, and they very soon perceived that this was no exaggeration.

    “Who taught you to waltz?” croaked Niners as her sister returned from a flight round the floor, rather flushed and smiling.

    “An angel,” said her burly partner with a grin.

    “Very near, for it was Mrs Burns herself,” said Captain Cutlass, returning the grin, “or rather it was an angel with a chair. Fortunately the latter had sturdy toes.”

    Her partner sniggered very much and bowing, begged the next of Miss Elizabeth.

    Niners accepted gratefully: it had not, frankly, been very amusing to sit by the wall while her little sister whirled round the floor. Grinning, the burly Major Whyte, who was on furlough from India and quite determined to make the most of it, led off the second-prettiest gal in the room.

    Captain Cutlass was about to sit down by Mrs Burns, but a young Lieutenant Watson who was one of Captain Burns’s officers came up and bowed very low, Mrs Burns nodded smiling approval, and she was whisked away.

    “Shall we, my dear?” said the mild-mannered Captain Burns with a twinkle in his eye.

    “Good gracious, Rabbie, I am not here to dance!”

    “Rubbish, my dear: you take the shine out of them all! Look, that set is not made up: come along!”

    Giggling a little, Mrs Burns allowed herself to be led off.

    The burly Major Whyte, retiring from the lists that night very late, found himself thinking that a chap needed a wife, dash it, and a major’s pay was not so dusty, and Colonel Macy would not object, and Mrs Macy would be very glad of it, and though the little sister was a perfect peach and bright as a button she was a terrible jokester and the older would be more comfortable to live with, and that creamy complexion was really something and the figure just what he liked, and dash it, Old Jakesy was right, damn his eyes, and a fellow did not half get through dress gloves in a dump like Brighton and he would have to buy some more of the damned things. More or less in that order.

    Young Lieutenant Watson, at a more credulous age, tumbled into bed to dream of golden-haired angels with complexions like milk and wild roses.

    Very soon, however, these ardent gentlemen had rivals. In Niners’s case, a smiling Mr Mortimer with wonderful neckcloths, who was visiting for the summer season with his sister, a Mrs Coombs whom Mrs Burns knew slightly. Captain Cutlass had predicted darkly he would turn out to be a Wickham or a Willoughby even though his name did not start with W, but this could not possibly have been sour grapes, for she had now acquired an elegant Mr Percy Carteret, a childhood’s friend of Lieutenant Watson’s and presented to the Miss Formbys, in fact, by that gentleman in person (a gross tactical error), together with a Lieutenant Foulkes, R.N., not one of John-John’s fellow officers and not an acquaintance of anybody on Captain Burns’s ship, so it was a mystery, really, how she had got him, and an extremely eager Mr Carton-Johnson, an acquaintance of Mrs Godley, Mrs Burns’s mamma, and for whom Mrs Burns apologised limply.

    “No, please, dear ma’am, do not apologise,” said Captain Cutlass merrily, “for his solidity offers a much-needed counterbalance to the leaven of such frivolous young fellows as Watson, Foulkes, and Mr Percy Waistcoat!”

    Alas, instead of reproving her for the tone of this speech her stern chaperone went into a gale of helpless giggles. Though emerging from them to mop her eyes and remark: “Well, he’s a silly old thing, but quite harmless, my dear, so I think your mamma would not object.”

    “No!” said Captain Cutlass with a laugh. “Don’t look like that, Niners: he is not nearly in Stottle’s class, alas!”

    Niners smiled doubtfully. Mr Carton-Johnson was possibly not as bad as Stottle, no, but he was nigh old enough to be Captain Cutlass’s grandfather and extremely stout. Mrs Murtrey from next-door had now pointed out to the girls that he was a rich widower, and would be a great catch, and in Miss Calpurnia’s shoes she would nab him, acos it were a guinea to a groat he’d pop orf afore the first anniversary rolled round: that high colour didn’t promise no long life, and it would not be half bad to be left a rich widder afore she was twenty-five. So Niners could not but conclude, though recognising it as uncharitable in herself to do so, that Mrs Burns’s mamma had good reason to disapprove of the amiable Mrs Murtrey.

    After some time it became apparent to the good-natured Captain Burns that his wife favoured young Lieutenant Watson for Calpurnia. He tried to intimate nicely that the lass was merely encouraging little Billy Watson to make a great cake of himself and had so serious intentions at all, only to see his efforts fall on deaf ears. John-John came over in the sailing dinghy to see them all and as they blew a cloud after dinner in the tiny back garden—for Mrs Burns did not care for the horrid cigar smoke in the house—he imparted it to him, faute de mieux.

    “The women are like that, sir,” returned his junior officer. “We have a houseful of ’em at home, y’know. They get a notion into their noddles that so-and-so will suit such-and-such a girl and nothing will get it out again. Until the girl marries some other fellow entirely,” he finished on a dry note.

    “Aye!” said the Captain with a chuckle, patting him on the shoulder. “Well, in the case Anne should give your mamma the wrong idea, dear boy, try to persuade her that it’s false hopes, would you?”

    “I shall, sir, only as a matter of fact Ma ain’t like the rest of ’em!” admitted John-John cheerfully. “Woman of great good sense!”

    Captain Burns thought of Anne’s frightful mother and reflected that the Formby family was fortunate, then. And said sadly: “Aye, so was my mamma. I miss her.”

    “Of course, sir,” said the tall young man nicely, and Captain Burns, smiling up at him, said in rallying tones: “Well! We are in danger of carrying on like a pair of maudlin old women ourselves! Why do you not come over for a week, dear lad—and bring that brother of yours, the town is swarming with attractive lasses, dare say we can find one for him, eh?”

    John-John’s eye, as a matter of fact, had already fallen on little Miss Mary Cox. She was a sweet girl, and quite bright, when out from under the frightful mother’s thumb and encouraged to utter more than a whisper—and had grown up amazingly during the time he had been at sea. He would have refused this kind invitation but for the fact that Mrs Cox, ignoring her municipal duties in Waddington-on-Sea, had determinedly dragged Miss Cox over to Brighton to stay with a cousin of her own for the summer season and was now, according to his Indignant Worship, flinging her at the head of anything in pantaloons. So he accepted eagerly, though adding somewhat as an afterthought that he was not sure Little Joe would come—and, er, the fellow over-topped him by a good two inches and did not positively shine on the dance floor.

    To which Captain Burns, now in a very good mood, replied merrily that the lasses never had objected to a tall, well set-up lad since time began! Weakly John-John promised to do his best to get the fellow over—well, it would certainly shake him out of his rut, and as he did not, after all, seem to be interested in his friend Len Barnes’s sister, there was no reason for not coming, was there? But he’d best warn the fellow on no account to put his great foot through Mrs Burns’s good sheets, if he did come!

    A week later, therefore, Niners, who had elected to accompany Captain Cutlass on a stroll but not to further accompany her into an emporium where but two days since they had encountered Mr Carton-Johnson, was staring glumly into the shop window, wondering where on earth their brothers had got to and reflecting crossly that it was so like them to vanish just when they were needed.

    After a little two young ladies emerged from a neighbouring shop, and came to look in the window at her side. Niners glanced at them with interest, the more so as they were both dressed in the most exquisite taste—though rather more frivolously than Miss Henderson would have approved. One was a tall, fair girl, in a smart walking dress of lemon and white stripes, with matching striped ribbons on the white silk hat, and the other was a very dark girl: most unusual looks—quite exotic, really. It had been very sensible of whoever had chosen that gown to avoid the blue and white nautical look favoured by so many of the fashionable ladies who came to Brighton for the summer season, for that olive skin would have looked dreadful in blue. Instead she was in a charming russet print on white— Niners took another look. Good gracious, no, the russet motifs were embroidered! She must certainly come from a wealthy family. The russet shade set her glowing dark looks off to perfection. Realizing the girls had noticed her looking, Niners quickly turned her gaze to back to the window, blushing a little. It was one of Miss Henderson’s firmest dicta that a lady never stared.

    “Oh—there you are,” she said as Captain Cutlass emerged onto the street. “The boys have disappeared, I’m afraid.”

    Captain Cutlass began with a laugh: “We don’t need th— Rita?” she gasped.

    The lovely dark girl now looked as if she could sink—oh, no! Was she someone whom Captain Cutlass had insulted? Or—or spoken to without an introduction?

    “Hullo, Captain Cutlass,” she said in a tiny voice.

    Captain Cutlass had gone very red. “I think you had best explain. That is not the dress of a serving-wench,” she said grimly.

    “Cuh-Captain Cutlass!” gasped Niners, going scarlet in her turn. “Should you be speaking like that to this lady?”

    At this the fair girl who, far from appearing disconcerted, had been observing the whole scene with bright-eyed interest, said: “I rather think she should. Though I can assure you that none of it was Rita’s fault: she was under the sway of a much stronger personality. –It’s all right, Rita,” she said, hugging the dark girl’s arm: “I’ll explain.”

    “If you need to, now,” said Captain Cutlass, very dry.

    “No, well, she is not a serving-wench at all, of course,” said the fair girl composedly. “Her name is Rita Baldaya. Her sister is my stepmamma, Lady Stamforth. I am Mina Benedict.”

    Captain Cutlass’s mouth was very tight. “Edifying.”

    “Miss—Miss Baldaya?” faltered Niners.

    “She and her sister—they were not dressed like this, self-evidently—are the half-Portuguese persons whom Mouse and I met over near Sunny Bay, Niners.”

    “I am vairy sorry!” gasped Rita. “We deed not theenk at first that eet would matter!”

    “Four times, in all, by my reckoning,” replied Captain Cutlass grimly. “No, well, three times that I met your sister, but four that Mouse did.”

    “Yes,” she said glumly. “When we realized that you and Mouse were labouring under a misapprehension, we— Um, I mean, Nan said that eet would be more embarrassing eef—eef we said who we were.”

    Captain Cutlass glanced at Niners’ scarlet cheeks. “I suppose I do not need to ask, more embarrassing for whom? Though it appears to me that in concealing your identities you were avoiding a certain awkwardness on your own account.”

    “Don’t blame Rita,” said the fair-haired Mina Benedict. “Few persons are capable of standing up to my stepmamma’s combination of charm and determination, I do assure you. And I have to confess that the thing did seem harmless.”

    Captain Cutlass looked at the shrinking Rita Baldaya, and sighed. “Yes, I see. I was going to say that presumably you have free will, but— Well. You were overridden by a stronger personality, I quite see that.”

    “Yes,” she whispered. “I—I truly deed try to persuade her that we should not! But—but eet was not done maliciously.”

    “No, I’ll acquit you of that,” conceded Captain Cutlass fairly.

    “Captain Cutlass,” said Niners in a low voice, “you yourself have said that one cannot blame little Mary Cox for never standing up to her mamma, for she is not endowed with the force of personality to do so.”

    “That’s very true, and Ma Cox ain’t even got the charm to add to the determination!” admitted Captain Cutlass with a wry grin. “ –Don’t look like that, Rita,” she said, holding out her hand: “I’m not cross with you: I can see you did your best.”

    Rita nodded her fashionable hat hard, and thankfully shook the hand. “Thank you, Captain Cutlass.”

    “We cannot blame you for being cross with Nan,” said Mina drily, shaking hands in her turn. “I’m very glad to know you, Captain Cutlass. And is this one of your sisters?”

    “Yes: this is Niners, though if you insist you may call her Elizabeth!” admitted Captain Cutlass with a smile.

    Dazedly Niners acknowledged the introduction to the young ladies who were Lady Stamforth’s sister and stepdaughter.

    “Which would you prefer we call you?” asked Rita shyly.

    “Well, Elizabeth, really,” she admitted. “It’s only the family who call me Niners. We all have silly nicknames.”

    “My dear Elizabeth,” said Mina with a laugh, “they cannot possibly appear silly to persons who have a half-sister and niece who calls herself Jack!”

    “Oh—yes, of course, the little girl!” said Niners with a weak smile. “Ma met her at the market: she was most taken with her.”

    “Whilst not realizing whose child she was, of course,” added Captain Cutlass drily. “That certainly explains the mystery of why three fashionable young gentlemen from the castle were wandering around the town with a scruffy little girl and a one-eyed fellow! Or are you about to reveal he was Lord Stamforth in disguise?”

    “Captain Cutlass!” gasped Niners in horror.

    “No, no, Elizabeth, it’s quite all right!” said Mina with a laugh. “Poulter is my step-papa’s manservant, Captain Cutlass. The other poacher whom you and Mouse encountered that time was Papa!”

    Niners clapped a hand to her mouth in dismay, but Captain Cutlass, now grinning broadly, admitted: “I see! Well, we didn’t positively accuse ’em, but I suppose we made it fairly clear what we thought!”

    “Exactly. And of course he thought you might be embarrassed if he said straight out: ‘I’m not a poacher, I’m Stamforth, and pray have as many of my chestnuts as you please.’”

    “Um, yes,” admitted Rita. “Nan thought she might call and confess eet all, back last winter, but then decided eet would be kinder not to. Lewis was not best pleased, but he deed not order her to undeceive you, for he does not believe that a man should give hees wife orders.”

    “Unless she’s standing in the path of a bolting horse or some such!” grinned Mina. “He says he won’t be her mentor, you see, and that Nan is an adult person with free will.”

    The Formby girls were now both frankly gaping.

    “He—he ees a vairy unusual man, and—and we love heem vairy much,” said Rita shyly.

    Captain Cutlass swallowed. “Um, yes. Well, Pa don’t come right out and say it, but as a matter of fact his and Ma’s marriage is very like that, too.”

    “Actually, she’s right,” discovered Niners.

    “Then there are two of them in the whole world!” said Mina gaily.

    “Absolutely! Most men are either bullies or doormats, have you remarked it?” replied Captain Cutlass enthusiastically. She launched into a telling description of the Mountjoy and Cox ménages, which Mina and Rita, shuddering, countered with the London version: Mrs Uckridge, the daughters under the thumb and the husband presumed to exist but never seen, and Mrs Cantrell-Sprague, the sons completely under the thumb and the husband not known to say “boo” to a goose.

    After this, past faux pas forgotten, the young ladies were smiling happily, very pleased with one another, when an unctuous voice remarked: “My dear Miss Elizabeth! My dear Miss Calpurnia! What a fortunate coincidence!” And a beaming Mr Carton-Johnson bowed very, very low, the nose as close to the knee of the strikingly yellow pantaloons as was possible in a person of that bulk. “And you have some friends with you, today! Will you not present me?”

    Not recognising that her sister’s look of horror indicated not merely her usual disinclination for Mr Carton-Johnson’s company, but a strong feeling that he was not at all a suitable person for Lord and Lady Stamforth’s young relatives to know, Captain Cutlass performed introductions.

    “Ah!” he sighed, pressing his hand to his substantial bosom. “What an ineffable honour to make the acquaintance of two such gracious and, if I might dare to say so, daintily fairy-like young ladies!”

    Captain Cutlass was now goggling in unaffected delight: she had not, though he had been pretty bad, realized hitherto that he had such a flow.

    “How do you do, Mr Carton-Johnson?” said Mina calmly as he bowed over her hand. “You are too kind.”

    “Not at all, not at all, my dear Miss Benedict! My entire pleasure!” beamed Mr Carton-Johnson, turning to Rita. “My dear Miss Baldaya: this must complete the picture,” he sighed, bending low over her hand. He straightened, not without effort. “As the noble poet says, ‘All that’s best of dark and light!’” he declaimed, pressing one hand to the bosom again and waving from Rita to Mina with the other.

    Captain Cutlass choked, though as Rita was now visibly shrinking from the old creature, reflected she had best get rid of him. Though she was not sure that anything but downright rudeness would work. However, Niners, who had been looking frantically up and down the street, said with a sigh of relief: “Little Joe and John-John!” She waved madly. Captain Cutlass also waved, looking dry.

    Little Joe strolled up without haste and greeted his sisters with: “Oh, there you are. Thought you would have walked on.”

    To which John-John supplied the addendum: “Lord, y’weren’t in that dump, were you?”

    “Whiling away the time trying on delightful millinery, dear brother, whilst we awaited your pleasure?” replied Captain Cutlass sweetly. “Well, no. I was in the next shop and Niners was but enjoying the hats in the window. Or rather,” she said, endeavouring to give Little Joe a meaning look, “hats in combination with something approaching a Stottle.”

    Little Joe had registered that the other young ladies were not just two extraneous young ladies interested in hats but were with his sisters, and had snatched his own hat off and was bowing, and did not notice the meaning look. But he did not need to, as Mr Carton-Johnson then burst into speech.

    “The ladies must have their way, you know! And I trust as you found something to your satisfaction, my dear Miss Elizabeth? Though we gentlemen may weep to find ‘every raven tress’ hid from sight.”—Captain Cutlass gulped, as it dawned it was not only the same noble poet, it was the same poem: did he but know the one?—“But I dare swear, Miss Calpurnia, that however delightful those millinery confections may be, they cannot hold a candle to your own sweet face, and pity ’twere to shade ‘The smiles that win, the tints that glow’ with a mere trumpery bonnet!”

    The Formby brothers’ jaws had sagged, the more so as the stout old party was now bowing very low to their sisters and attempting to kiss Captain Cutlass’s hand.

    “Little Joe—!” hissed Niners with a pleading look.

    He cleared his throat. “Oh, aye? Another Stottle, is it? Excuse me, old gentleman: I don’t know your name and I don’t want to, but you can kindly cease paying fulsome and unwanted compliments to my sisters and take yourself off!”

    Mr Carton-Johnson spluttered and attempted to lodge a protest but took another look at the size of Mr Formby, and reconsidered; and, John-John ranging alongside his brother with the advice: “Aye: clap on canvas, old sir, and be off while the wind’s still in your favour,” bade the ladies a hasty good-day and took himself off as fast as the yellow legs would bear him.

    “Thank you,” said Niners, swallowing.

    “Well, yes,” owned Captain Cutlass calmly. “I don’t mind him, but he had begun seriously to embarrass Niners. And I don’t think Rita cared for him, did you?”

    “No,” she whispered. “One—one does encounter such persons een Brighton, een the summer season.”

    Little Joe’s mouth tightened. “Then I’m only sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”

    “He didn’t accost you girls in the street, did he?” asked John-John.

    “No, he’s not that bad. We have been introduced,” admitted Captain Cutlass.

    Little Joe stared. “By whom, dare I ask?”

    “Um, well, by Mrs Godley, Mrs Burns’s mamma. He is an acquaintance of hers,” she said on a lame note.

    “An acquaintance? He must be a contemporary! Seventy if a day!” he cried.

    “Um, not that, I wouldn’t say.”

    “Sixty, then,” said John-John in some amusement. “I’ll drop a word in Captain Burns’s ear.”

    “Thank you so much, John-John!” said Niners in patent relief. “For he is not near so bad in company: it’s when he has us alone that he—he begins on the dreadful compliments.”

    “And the hand-squeezing,” said Captain Cutlass detachedly.

    Her brothers’ faces were now very red and Little Joe said grimly: “You can rest assured that we won’t let you walk out without us again!”

    “Thank you, Little Joe, dear,” said Niners gratefully.

    “I’d thank you for that piece of gallantry, too,” said Captain Cutlass drily, “only that the pair of you did not let us walk out alone, did you? You merely abandoned us in the street.”

    “All right!” said Little Joe angrily, now very flushed, as he felt the lovely dark girl’s big wondering eyes on him. “It was wrong of us, and it won’t happen again!”

    “It wasn’t so very bad, sir,” said Mina kindly.

    “Glad you think so. Friends of Captain Cutlass’s and Niners’s, are you?” he asked easily.

    “Little Joe, really!” gasped Niners, turning puce.

    “Well, we have just made friends, yes,” said Mina nicely. “And I would very much appreciate an introduction, Elizabeth.”

    “At all events they ain’t as bad as old Carton-Johnson, Niners,” noted their sister.

    “Thanks,” said John-John drily. “Go on, Niners, present us.”

    In a stifled voice Niners presented her brothers to Miss Benedict and Miss Baldaya.

    “They are Lady Stamforth’s relatives,” admitted Captain Cutlass as her brothers made their bows. “Well, Rita and I had met before—Miss Baldaya, that is—but I’ll spare you the story.”

    “What did she do?” said Little Joe in a fatalistic voice to Miss Baldaya.

    “Nothing, sir!” she gasped. “Eet—eet was not her fault at all!”

    “That’s a change,” he said with his easy grin. “So—uh—you girls are not alone, are you? Lady Stamforth in the hat shop, is she?”

    “No, Nan ees gone to stay weeth our brother Richard to help heem get hees new house een order.”

    “Though if she were here,” said Mina with her frank laugh, “the hat shop is where she would be!”

    “Yes,” agreed Rita, smiling shyly at Mr Formby. “She ees vairy partial to millinery. We came eento town with Miss Gump, our companion. She ees een that other shop, sir, matching embroidery thread.”

    “Help, it’ll be like that time I came over with Aunty Lash when she was trying to match embroidery thread: you’ll be standing here all day!” said Captain Cutlass with a laugh.

    “Then shall we all take a stroll?” said Little Joe promptly.

    “That would be delightful. I’ll just tell Miss Gump,” said Mina, hurrying into the shop.

    “Mayhap,” said Niners in a low voice, “she will not give her permission.”

    John-John gave her a dry look. Miss Benedict had not struck him as being about to ask. And sure enough, she reappeared almost immediately, smiling and announcing: “I told her!”

    Quickly Little Joe offered the gloriously pretty, black-eyed Miss Baldaya his arm. The which she took with a shy blush and a whispered: “Thank you, Mr Formby.” And Little Joe led her off with a flush on his handsome cheeks and the wide grey eyes that were like his mother’s and Niners’s very bright.

    “That was all,” said John-John with an easy grin.

    “Yes,” said his mother limply. “And Captain Cutlass actually—actually behaved herself?”

    “Um, yes, Ma,” said the burly sailor uncertainly. “Wearing a pretty dress, too. And a bonnet.”

    “Yes—uh—there was no sign of Bingley, I trust, John-John?”

    “Um, well, they’ve met a load of chaps, but I don’t recall one of that name, no.”

    His Great-Aunty Bouncer sighed. “She means Mr Baldaya, John-John. They got the Bingley stuff out o’ some book—don’t ask!”

    “Another relation of Lady Stamforth’s? No, there was only the two girls.”

    “’Er brother,” said Great-Aunty Jicksy sourly.

    “Oh—right. Which of ’em fell for him?” he asked weakly. “Not Captain Cutlass, surely? And I’d’ve said Niners had more sense.”

    “Than to fall for a viscount’s brother-in-law in fancy pantaloons? Yer right, there, deary! No, it was Mouse,” replied Mrs Huggins.

    John-John would also have said that Mouse had more sense than to fall for a viscount’s brother-in-law in fancy pantaloons. “Oh,” he said feebly.

    “He’s been steering well clear of her,” said Julia heavily, “and I thought we were agreed his name would not be mentioned in this house again?”

    “Either of ’is names—no!” chirped Aunt Jicksy brightly, and the two elderly dames broke into loud cackles.

    “Yes,” said John-John feebly. “Well, you don’t need to worry, Ma.”

    “Good. But do I have any cause to feel hopeful, John-John?”

    The beady eyes of the old aunties bored into him… John-John swallowed.

    “Mrs Burns wrote yer Ma a note,” warned Great-Aunty Bouncer, as the silence lengthened.

    “God,” he muttered. He cleared his throat. “Look, Captain Burns told me himself that she’s taken it into her noddle that Captain Cutlass favours that young idiot Billy Watson, only there’s nothing in it! I saw for myself that he’s right. And Niners did dance with that silly young Mortimer—it was his sister, Mrs Coombs, what gave the dinner and dance—but they were talking about the china, and believe you me there’s nothing in it!”

    Mrs Peters sniffed, but nodded. “A Major Whyte was mentioned,” she noted.

    John-John sighed. “Seems quite a decent chap—bit like Millicent’s Major Miller—but Niners didn’t offer him particular encouragement, neither, though I admit he seemed keen.”

    “Still, if he’s keen—” said Julia without much hope.

    “It may come to something,” agreed her son without conviction.

    “Was that all?” asked Great-Aunty Jicksy sadly.

    John-John looked at the little bent, elderly figure with a feeling of desperation. “Uh—Oh! Know a chap called Rossiter?”

    They brightened—even his mother brightened, Hell! “Don’t read too much into this. We bumped into this Jimmy Rossiter, and were asked to dinner at his mother’s house.” He looked at their faces. “Um, outskirts of Brighton, quite a large house, decent garden, Mrs R. dignified it with the name of grounds but I wouldn’t go that far meself… No?”

    Julia cleared her throat. “Dainty viands, dear.”

    “Eh? Oh! They were that, all right! Never seen such chopped-up little bits of things and so many elegant sauces with French names in me life!” To his relief this was the right note, for they all three collapsed in wheezing fits.

    “Yes!” said Julia, mopping her eyes. “I shall never forget that dinner, till the day I die! –Did young Mr Rossiter seem interested in Captain Cutlass, John-John?”

    “Um, well, ye-es—”

    “Did she encourage him, dear?” she asked, her eyes shining.

    John-John barely repressed a groan. “Look, Ma, if you must have it, she encouraged him so much I thought his mother was going to explode, but if she was even halfway serious I’m a monkey’s uncle! Saw her with me own eyes flirting madly with half a dozen other hopefuls she clearly didn’t a give a fig for, either!”

    After a perceptible pause Julia managed to say: “Well, at least that’s a huge step in the right direction. …Flirting? Captain Cutlass?”

    “Aye. Grown up at last,” said John-John firmly. “That it?”

    “Y—No, well, was the brother-in-law there? Mr Waters, a very pleasant man,” she said without hope.

    “Thought you’d decided ’e didn’t fancy neither of the girls, after all?” said Mrs Peters drily.

    “Aye: didn’t you ’ave ’im lined up for Lash? Only she weren’t there,” noted Mrs Huggins, equally dry.

    Julia was now very red. “Was he there?” she snapped.

    “Yes. Said he loathed Brighton in the summer but had business there,” he offered feebly.

    “Get it over with, boy,” sighed Bouncer. “Which of ’em did he favour, if either?”

    To say truth, as Mrs Cox and pretty little Mary had also been present at this dinner, John-John hadn't registered much of the other guests’ goings-on. “Um, well, he was pleasant to both of them. –Sorry, Ma, think that’s all I can tell you. Or is Aunty Bouncer going to bring in the thumb-screws?”

    “Hah, hah!” retorted that dame, glaring, what time Great-Aunty Jicksy gave a delighted cackle.

    “She doesn’t need thumb-screws,” admitted Julia drily. “We didn’t mean to interrogate you, dear, but—well, Little Joe’s hopeless! You know what he is!”

    The burly sailor eyed them kindly. He certainly knew how keen Little Joe had seemed on the exotically lovely Rita Baldaya, viscountess’ sister or no. “Aye. Well, think I might stretch my legs.” He went over to the door.

    “Just a moment, dear,” said Julia in a weak voice. “You have not heard any more from Commander Henderson, have you?”

    The beady eyes of the old aunties bored into him… John-John passed a hand through his fair curls, and sighed. “I don’t need to hear more, Ma. If Lucas says he wants me to help manage his aunt’s property, then he means it.”

    “Well, how he’s getting on?” asked his Great-Aunty Bouncer immediately.

    “I don’t know, Aunty, I’ve been in Brighton,” he said heavily.

    “Well, are you gonna accept ’is offer or not?” snapped his Great-Aunty Jicksy.

    This was, of course, the question very much occupying his mother’s mind. John-John was aware she didn’t want him to go to sea again. “I’m still thinking it over. I’ll see you later.”

    The parlour door closed after him, leaving the three ladies disconsolate. Though Julia did manage: “At least Captain Cutlass has realized she’s a girl, at long last!”

    Great-Nunky Ben was discovered at his usual occupation, drinking in the tap of the Sailor’s Arms. John-John went and helped him do it.

    “Aah!” sighed the old man as the first of the fresh pint went down. “At it again, are they?”

    “Aye,” said the sailor glumly. “Well, still.”

    His great-uncle went into a huge cackling fit. He rinsed his throat. “’Eard from the Line?”

    “Not yet; they generally let you have a holiday after you’ve been nearly drowned,” replied the young officer drily. “But there are several vessels due to ship out in a month or two.”

    “Yer ma won’t like it,” he warned.

    “I haven’t decided!” he said crossly. He downed the rest of his pint. “Lucas is a very good chap, and working for him won’t be bad—and he means to buy a yacht, too, I’d get some sailing… I should like one more decent voyage,” he admitted.

    Great-Nunky Ben sniffed. “Thought so. Yer better do it if you want to, lad: might get it out of yer system. But the women won’t never understand, acos they never ’ave done and never will. –That weren’t a bad drop.”

    Taking the hint, John-John got them in again.

    “Way I ’eard it,” said the old man thoughtfully—John-John quailed—“Commander Henderson’d give you a nice little ’ouse.”

    “Um, yes, there is a farmhouse belonging to the estate. The man who was farming the land has retired—gone to live with a married daughter—which is why Miss Aitch is so keen for Lucas to take the place over without delay. It is a nice house, though a bit near to High Mallows.”

    Great-Nunky Ben went into an alarming wheezing, spluttering fit. Emerging from it to say: “Dessay as little Mary wouldn’t mind that too much.”

    “It ain’t got that far!” he gasped.

    “No, and if Ma Cox ’as anything to say to it, it won’t, neither. Only the thing is, John-John, if you was to be able to call yerself Commander Henderson’s agent, I dessay she’d wear it. Well, old Cox’d be on your side, he ain’t a bad sort. Only they don’t want their lass tied up to a young lieutenant what’s at sea eleven months out of the year risking getting drowned for a load o’ someone else’s tea!”

    “It was spices that voyage,” he said feebly.

    The old man sniffed. “Same difference.”

    “But if I stayed at sea there would be the prospect of captaining my own ship,” he said lamely.

    “In the first place it wouldn’t be yer own, them days is past, it’d be the Line’s! And in the second place, you’d ’ave to knuckle down to it and get yer Master’s ticket for that to ’appen, and schoolwork never were your thing, were it?”

    “No,” he admitted, biting his lip.

    “Well, one more wouldn’t ’urt,” concluded Great-Nunky Ben.

    “Haven’t you had enough? It’s almost dinnertime,” he said feebly.

    “Make it a rum,” said the old man promptly.

    Weakly John-John bought him a rum. Great-Nunky Ben waited until it was safely in his fist and he had taken the first mouthful before admitting: “I meant one more voyage wouldn’t ’urt, actually, though this ain’t ’urting, neither. But if you want little Mary you better speak to ’er, or you’ll come back to find ’er ma’s pushed ’er into taking a pair of fancy pantaloons from Brighton. And don’t say she won’t let herself be pushed: the woman’s a cow, and if she ain’t got no prospect of anything she likes better, any girl’d take the first offer to get out from under ’er roof.” He swallowed rum. “Not to say, ’er thumb.”

    John-John chewed on his lip and did not reply, but Great-Nunky Ben was nonetheless quite pleased with the effect of his speech, and did not press the point.

Next chapter:

https://thefortunateformbys.blogspot.com/2023/10/country-house-life.html