taster start William Price and the Thetis

 

Chapter 1

 

“Colin, do you know what our orders are?” asked Emma Green.

“Have patience, Mr. Midshipman Green,” teased Colin Prescott, as Emma was still electing to learn the ropes dressed as a Midshipman. “No, I don’t know for sure, but I can make a few guesses.”

“So what have you guessed?” asked Emma, standing on one leg and fidgeting with her stocking top with the free foot.

“You’ll get your stockings dirty and then Mr. Hardy will wax most irritable,” said Colin exactly as if he had not been doing the same thing up to a few months before.

Emma flushed and stood back on two feet. Abel Hardy, the gunner, was aware she was a girl and would hand her to Mrs. Price, the captain’s wife and ship’s surgeon for any canings deemed suitable, but he would not hold back any verbal excoriation.

“I don’t think you guessed anything,” she said, with a toss of her golden curls.

“Well if you try to goad me, I won’t tell you,” said Colin.

“It works on most boys,” said Emma. “Please tell me, Colin.”

“Well, we have medicines for the tropics, and provisions for a long cruise,” said Colin. “We are said to be set for nasty duty, and we have a marine lieutenant, not a sergeant so small a ship would usually rate.  We have extra spare masts and spars in case of hurricanes, so it is apparent that the Admiralty has given orders that we are to seek, cut-out and subdue a hurricane and bring it back for court martial.”

“Colin!” complained Emma.

The senior midshipman took pity on his friend.

“I think we’re going after slavers,” he said.

Emma’s mouth rounded into an ‘oh’.

“Because the ‘Thetis’ is an American-built schooner with typically American lines, and it’s Americans mostly doing the slaving?” she asked.

“Exactly,” said Colin.  “And some French but they won’t regard an American ship until we are too close to them to do anything about it.”

“Is that important?” asked Emma.

“With slavers? Yes.  We need to be able to board and storm to stop them throwing all the slaves overboard.  We can’t do anything about them unless catching them with an actual cargo because that’s the law, but if we smell the cargo, and apparently they stink for the awful condition the slaves are kept in, Mr. Price will take that as a good reason to board, and then they can be stopped from disposing of the evidence.”

“Throwing them overboard?  That’s horrible, but can’t we pick them up?”

“They throw them over in irons to weigh them down.  Mr. Price spoke about it once,” said Colin, soberly.  “You may need to go into skirts to help care for and reassure the women; you and Molly both.”

“And if it helps, I certainly will,” said Emma. “What villains!”

“I wager Mr. Price will be happy to treat them like pirates and kill on sight,” said Colin. “Of course he’s more aware of the problem, with Mrs. Price being the granddaughter of a black slave.”

Emma nodded. The captain’s beautiful mulatto wife had been rescued from pirates, and the whole ship knew the romantic story and how William had rescued her, and fell in love, and in consequence was a wealthy man, as Mrs. Amelia Price’s father was a wealthy ship-owner and merchant. She was petting Tabitha, the ship’s cat, who had firmly come aboard on one of the provision boats, took up residence in the gun room and proceeded to give birth to four kittens.  She killed more rats than she and her brood needed and insisted on presenting any excess to the midshipman’s berth, which was, as Colin said an embarasse des riches.

 

William Price looked around his assembled officers. He smiled lovingly at his surgeon, his lovely wife Amelia. She had gained a certificate from the Royal College of Surgeons, by the expedient of dressing in men’s clothing, under her maiden name, A. Finch.  Next to her was John Scully, his first officer and good friend.  Nathaniel Erskine was the second lieutenant, a pleasant young man, who had taken under his wing William’s younger brother, Sam, now one of the midshipmen, and though the eldest, subordinate to the others for his lack of sea time. William looked around the midshipmen, glad he had some excellent lads. Colin was worth as much in William’s eyes as most grown passed lieutenants.  He was on good terms with Sam, fortunately, and with young Seth Porkins as well as with the unofficial midshipmen, Emma and Molly, who were surgeon’s mates.  Colin had also formed a rapid friendship with George and Albert Cosgrove, whom William had met on a rather dangerous journey to London. They had been willing to cut short leave to join ship in order to serve with him, being likely to be ‘beached’ otherwise.

On William’s other side sat his Sailing Master, Hiram Gubbins.  William respected Gubbins without finding him as convivial as some of his officers. Next to Gubbins was Ziv Stark, the Jewish marine Lieutenant, who was doing a good job training both Michael Ashe, the young ensign, and Roger Wilson, son of the marine sergeant, who was drummer boy. Ashe was in attendance too. William had included in his invitation to dinner the supernumerary, Wilfrid Percival, the second son of a viscount, who was fleeing from an unwanted marriage as ship’s carpenter, and Thomas Stackfield, the boys’ dominie. Stackfield had also volunteered to act as chaplain to lead prayers at the monthly service, something William hated doing, and reading a short Bible passage in his undeniably beautiful voice.  Stackfield was also teaching any sailors who wanted to learn to read every Sunday for an hour.

“You will want to know the orders under which we are sailing,” said William. He had their attention immediately.   “As happy accident meant that the land-bound group of pirates and barraters were rapidly rounded up, we have only to seek out and destroy the pirates still at sea, and the ship or ships they are using to operate.  We are also to harry slavers and free all the slaves we may.  We are to be on a six month cruise and to cause destruction to any other pirates we may happen upon, so long as we destroy those sailing under British captains and stealing from the Post Office.”

“Sir, are they the ones who were trying to kill you on the way to London?” asked George Cosgrove.

“Yes, Mr. Cosgrove, the very same,” said William. “And I would like the rest of you to know that I owe my life to the Messers Cosgrove; and that’s going to be awkward, so I suggest we have Mr. Cosgrove for George, the elder, and Mr. Albert for the younger, if you lads are amenable to that?”

“Thank you, sir, yes, sir,” agreed Albert.

“How were you planning on looking for them, sir?” asked Scully.

“I was planning on making them look for me,” said William. “I know that the Post Office does purchase uniform ships designed by Marmaduke Stalkaart, purpose built for the Falmouth packet, but they do use other small, fast ships as well. They bought out the ‘Mosquito’; some of you might remember her.”

There was laughter from Scully, Amelia and Colin; and a rueful look from Hiram Gubbins.

“This sounds like a history some of us have missed out on, sir,” said Erskine.

“’Mosquito’ was my first command,” said William. “We cut her out from an American harbour.  And indeed we fought off this very ship who was chasing her. Though we did have the sloop ‘Thrush’ to assist.”

“I see, sir,” said Erskine, nodding.

“So are we flying Post Office colours?” asked Stark.

“Yes, and I also had a notice inserted in the paper  that captured prize ‘Nancy Beth’ would be operating on the Americas run very shortly, in case any of them still have contacts in England,” said William.  “She may be renamed ‘Thetis’, but it is possible some have heard of the navy refit of the ‘Thetis’ and will fight shy of her. She’s a little larger than is usual, but not so much that it would draw undue attention to the idea.  And as ‘Thetis’ originally had 6-pounders before we had our refit for the half dozen 9-pounders each side, we will pack a surprise.  Other than the ‘Post-Office Cannons’ as bow and stern chasers, which are 9-pounders of brass, the Post-Office packets carry smaller guns on the whole.”

“So we are a nice juicy fly out dangled to catch a trout?” said Colin.

“Yes; especially as I might have implied in the notice that we might be carrying bullion,” said William.

Scully laughed.

“I like that,” he said. “What about evolutions, sir? Half the hands are green, and few enough of the others have actually sailed a schooner.”

“If need be, you, Colin and the men I kept could sail her,” said William, dryly.  “I will, however, be running evolutions, it’s one thing to learn the rigging from books, and thank you all those who have been going through it with the men, and another to do it.  I warn you ahead of time, I will be running evolutions in which a significant number of the crew and officers will be considered dead or wounded, and I will have died in all of them, in order to see how well you do.”

“That will be rather challenging,” said Erskine.

“Certainly, Nat, but you never know whether an action will leave you as the senior officer in the middle of a fight, needing to take decisions,” said William. “I wager you’d rather find out how well you do in a situation which is not real.”

“By Jove, yes,” said Erskine.

“Sir, a suggestion?” said Scully.

“Suggest away,” said William. 

“There are ten messes of eight men,” said Scully.  “It seemed to me that if each had an officer or senior hand to whom they could turn specially for them, it would help them learn faster.  On ‘Thrush’ it made a difference having the watches assigned midshipmen.”

William nodded.

“Ziv does the same for his soldiers, so, John, that is you, Nat, Colin, George, Albert, Seth and Sam; I don’t think Mr. Gubbins should have a specific mess. Mr. Green, you are also learning the ropes, so you will make an eighth. Martin Beck as bosun and Abel Hardy as gunner have next seniority but I fear it would eat into their time.  Mr. Percival, will you be one?” he addressed his illicitly acquired carpenter.

“Certainly, sir, and I wish you will call me Wilfrid or Frid, as you do with the others,” said Percival.

“As you wish, Frid, in this room or if invited to the wardroom only, of course,” said William.  “That leaves one more.”

“Sir,” said Colin, “Everyone turns to Jeb Walden, and treats him like a warrant officer, and I reckon if you ask Mr. Smith as Master’s mate to help Mr. Green, then Walden would do as a tenth. As Quatermaster he has a lot of respect, and I don’t think anyone here would complain about him being here officially rather than just on the binnacle listening through the open skylight.”

William laughed.

“So you worked out how I let things leak to the men,” he said. “And Walden knows how much to let slip and how much to keep to himself. Very well, if nobody has any objection we shall invite Jeb to be one of the captain’s herrings in this little barrel.”

There was laughter.  The trestles of the tables in both boardroom and gun room had been borrowed, and the boards to top them for the officers to eat, filling most of the tiny great cabin; and the midshipmen were perched on cushions on a plank between the two sternchasers. The other officers had more or less comfort of individual seats ranging from a couple of chairs for William and Amelia, through William’s and Amelia’s sea chests, to a selection of barrels.

Colin muttered something to George Cosgrove, who sniggered.

“If that was anything to do with Tiberius and little fishies, Mr. Prescott, I will expect an ode in Latin from you on the beauty of fish,” said Scully.

“Oh, sir, can’t you just cane me?” said Colin, in dismay.

“Certainly not; King’s Regulations demand that I issue a punishment far more severe than that,” said Scully.

Colin sighed, but it was fair enough. He would have to watch his unruly tongue and even more unruly sense of humour. He was ready to sink into his shoes for being given the Look from the Captain, one eyebrow raised, wrinkling the scar on his forehead.  It had been rude.

“Sorry, sir,” said Colin, contritely.

“I can see the temptation,” said William.  “You can write the ode in English so we can all enjoy it, but make sure it is at least four stanzas.”

“Yessir,” said Colin, not sure whether to be dismayed or relieved. Four stanzas was a lot of ode to a thirteen-year-old, but was at least in his native tongue.

The news of evolutions was left to Walden to percolate amongst the company; Jeb would let it be known that there would be prizes of tobacco, tea, gold and other little luxuries for those who did well, and that it was the tradition of all the ships the captain had been on to pool all prizes, and find ways to reward those who did not smoke, for example.  Jeb murmured of fruit preserved in syrup, and the joys of a boiled egg for breakfast as the hens were laying well enough to make this prize for any individual mess a real possibility. He did not mention that the Mrs. Captain, as some people called Amelia, had already laid up some eggs in isinglass for when the hens were off lay. Amelia believed in eggs and milk to aid the recovery of any invalid.  Jeb, having been Amelia’s first patient, for having fallen from aloft and was lucky to get off with a broken leg, still recalled the delights of his rum ration being beaten with sugar into two eggs and hot chocolate to drink, the ‘Mosquito’ having had such luxuries.

Jeb had noticed a respectable amount of chocolate being loaded along with extra tobacco and tea.

Mr. and Mrs. Price took good care of their people.

 

Chapter 2

 

“Very well, lad, let’s hear it.”

The officers were mustered aft to witness poetry.

Colin stood on one leg, decided that this was not consonant with his dignity as senior midshipman, and took a deep breath. He made his delivery in one breath per stanza.

“The net with glittering diamond shine

Of water sheathing silver bright

Or else the treasure drawn on line

Displayed to sight.

 

The shimmering flanks, intricate scales

In piscine splendour finely wrought,

Shines like the polished armour mail

To give us sport.

 

The bounteous sea with boundless deep

Is home to many a fishy kind

To swim and e’en at times to leap

Above the brine.

 

Oh fish! Your silver’s quickly scraped

Because you are a tasty beast

Cleaned, gutted, stuffed and then you’re baked

A splendid feast.”

 

“Well, it ain’t in Pip Wensum’s class, but not a bad effort, despite the number of words you stole from the psalms,” said Scully.  “Will it do, Captain?”

“I think the last stanza was the one most truly from the heart,” said William. “Why a Sapphic ode?”

“Shorter, sir,” said Colin.

“A good enough reason,” said William. “Very well; carry on.” He wanted to get into his cabin so that he could indulge himself in mirth over Colin’s efforts of mixed grandiloquent phrases and simple schoolboy thought.

“I thought it was clever,” said Emma.  “Though it isn’t as good as Wensum Secundus.”

“Well, I ain’t pining to go work for Walter Scott like WenSec did,” said Colin.  “Still, better than having to do it in Latin; I had got as far as thinking ‘Pisces piscatore mirandum’, the fish is to be marvelled at by the fisherman, and wondering if I could get away with rhyming that with ‘bibendum’ for the wine which goes best with it which must be drunk.”

“I am sure you would have done it very well,” said Emma.

“I was going to cheat and mention ‘lorica squamatum’, armour of scales, like some Romans had,” said Colin.

“That is clever,” said Emma.

 A/N I haven't completed chapter 2 but I thought you might like to see Colin's efforts. Here I run out of odd chapters, and I might start on The Falcon and the King, but it's not going fast purely because I have no energy.

Calico Jane, a pirate story

 this didn't reach a chapter but I thought I'd share the concept. 

Chapter 1

 

“Deck there!  Sail fine on the starboard bow!” the call came from aloft.  Jane did not bother to call up to ask what sail; her lookout knew his business.  He would tell her when he was sure.

Sure enough, presently the call came.

“It’s a Don, Cap’n!  Down at the bow and wallowing like a cow in a slough!”

“All hands to trim sails; put us on an intercept course if you will, Mr. McGiver,” said Jane. “Beat to quarters, if you please.”

Her helmsman bellowed the orders for her and brought the ship round two points. Tom, the ship’s boy, beat a ruffle on his drum, sending the men at a run to the cannons, their bare feet slapping on the deck in time almost to the drumbeat.

“A few fine patches for your coat, captain, I hope,” said McGiver, jocularly.  The elderly helmsman was permitted to tease her, and Jane smiled an austere smile.  Her coat made of many patches was her talisman, her lucky charm, and it had given her the name by which she was known and feared by Spaniards and King James of England’s men alike; Calico Jane.

She thought back to that time which seemed to be in another lifetime, but was only a few short years before.

 

Jane clutched at the threadbare grey shawl about her shoulders. It scarcely kept out the cruel sea breeze as she shuffled along the deck with the other prisoners.

One of the sailors looked at her strange garb with a raised eyebrow.

“You don’t look like a hardened criminal; you ain’t even full grown,” he said. “What did you do?”

Jane shuddered, the bewildered and stunned look still in her eyes.

“I gave a pie to a beggar,” she said. “I never knew he was one of Monmouth’s men and if I had, I didn’t know then what that meant.  They came for me in the middle of the night,” she gestured to her night rail, her only garment besides the threadbare shawl.  “My mistress wouldn’t send me no clo’es, she said she’d paid for them and it was my problem.”

“Pore liddle wench,” said the sailor.  “I’ll see if I can’t get you a job as servant to the orficers; there’s a bit o’ pay in that, and some scraps off of their table sometimes.  And I’ve an old jacket; it’s patched, but it’s better ‘n nuffink.”

Wrapped in the patched, faded jacket, Jane was warm for the first time since she was dragged from her narrow bed by the king’s men.

 

She fingered the jacket, smiling to herself.  She had added to the patches with gaudy ones cut from the clothing of captives, as trophies. Once, it had been a lifeline.  It was still a reminder that people in a hard world could be kind.  One sailor’s compassion had meant that Calico Jane was prepared to show clemency to others; to stand aside from hatred and bitterness.

She saved that for King James’ men, and now for the Spaniards, who were known for their cruelty.  

The Spaniards usually had plenty of plunder as well as being the natural enemy of all Protestant countries, and it was worth while going after even small ships.  Jane enjoyed the sea breeze on her face as they danced over the waves in the ship she had made her own, named the Bodkin, which like a needle darted in, pierced the enemy and darted out again. A needle drawing thread was carved as the figurehead, pointing aggressively out to sea, under the bowsprit. Bodkin carried three masts and forty-eight guns, and one hundred and sixty men, enough to handle the guns and the sails both at once. 

“Pass the word to put a shot across the Don’s bows as soon as we are within range,” said Jane. The Spaniard was now visible from the deck.  She did not have to shout; she had men to do that for her.  It was a compromise, a nod to her sex.  The men obeyed her word passed to them because she brought them prizes; and because she made sure they were well fed and healthy, cared for by a doctor who had been transported at the same sort of time as Jane had been, for treating a wounded man. Another of Monmouth’s men, and to fail to treat him would have been a betrayal of the Hippocratic oath.  For which Dr. Summers had been sent to Jamaica as Jane had been, to toil under sun too hot for the tender skins of the English, and ruin his surgeon’s hands in the cane fields.  He had been rescued by the pirate captain who had taught Jane much of the business of piracy, the former owner of the Bodkin, then known as the Black Pig. Jane had not wasted her time on the journey to Jamaica, but had learned as much as she might of seamanship.  At the time it had been with some idea of either hoping to steal a small ship, or to pass herself off as a ship’s boy and sign on with some ship leaving Jamaica.  It had been a bargaining chip to offer to Captain Diggory Trevellyn, as well as the idea that she could spy in ports, acting as a servant.  He had been a good captain and Jane had learned much from him, and was known by the men to be an advisor not a mistress when he had been cut in half by a canon ball.  Jane had assumed command in the moment of shock following the captain’s death; and with a shrug, the men accepted that those who could lead, should lead.

It was the pirate way.

 

The foremost cannon rumbled, and the shot ripped through the air, the plume of water ahead of the Spaniard coming a split second before the sound of its splashing into the water.

The Spaniard was turning to fight, and the ragged hole at the bow showed why she was down at the head.

“Bring her round; we’ll give her a broadside from the larboard battery as we cross her T,” said Jane. A broadside down the length of a ship was devastating.  It was more effective fired from astern, as there was some bracing at the bow, which was also narrower than the broad expanse of the stern, but every ball which penetrated was likely to go the length of the ship, ripping apart anyone in its way. Jane had been horrified when she first heard of this, but she had learned that the rules of engagement were kill or be killed.  Time enough to let them take to their boats if they struck the colours; those who survived.

 

 

 

Taster; the Reconnaissance

 This one started out as a fanfiction on Heyer's 'The Masqueraders' to be the next generation but I reworked it.

 

Chapter 1

 

“Are you looking forward to coming out and appearing at a London Season, my love?” Lady Chistermere asked Antonia Foyle.

“No, not really, Aunt Agatha,” said Antonia. “Society is so very circumscribed, and I fear falling prey to some fortune hunter. Being an heiress with no male relative to my name is tremendously worrying.”

Lady Chistermere sighed.

“I fear that is so,” she said.  “But what can one do?”

“I was thinking,” said Antonia, “That if a male country cousin of mine were to go to town first, and meet with the young men who might be supposed to be seeking a wife, he would see them in their own milieu and be able to have a better idea of who was hanging out for a wealthy wife, and who was likely to be genuinely interested in me as a person.”

“My dear, such would be ideal, if only we had a country cousin,” said Lady Chistermere.

Antonia took a deep breath.

“I was thinking of dressing as a man and pretending to be my own cousin,” she said.

“My dear!” cried Lady Chistermere, shocked.

“And you, of all people cannot gripe at me, for did you not dress as a boy whilst your own father was involved with the Jacobite army before he managed to inherit a title and gave up a lost cause to accept German George?” said Antonia, tartly.

Lady Chistermere blushed under her white lead.

“My dear, I had no idea you knew,” she said.

“Why, Grandpapa was always ready to tell the stories,” Antonia said. “How you had a duel forced on you, and winged your man while he missed you entirely.”

“That was altogether too trusting of Papa,” said Lady Chistermere. “Why who knows who might have overheard!  It was not so long after ’45 when he was living with you, and telling you such stories; and what did he tell you about your Papa?” she asked in sudden consternation.

“That he spent two years as a smuggler to avoid German George’s men, and then became a highwayman for a while,” said Antonia. “I swear, ‘tis prodigious exciting as a tale for a moppet barely old enough for the schoolroom, but I have no intention of living quite so outrageous a life as you and Papa.  He would let me do it, I feel sure.”

“I fear you are probably right,” said Lady Chistermere.  “Dear me, since I married Chistermere, I put all that behind me.  But it is hard to deny my dear niece anything, especially when you were so cruelly robbed of a grandpapa, Papa and Mama in one fell swoop with that terrible influenza outbreak. But my love, who would teach you how to go on? And how would you manage with having to have a valet?”

“Why, dear aunt, I thought you would teach me. As for a valet, I wondered if you would like to resume the role.”

“Lud, my child!  I’ll teach you, but I’ll not resume my breeches. I am too fat these days, and ‘twould be a travesty.”

“Then what about Cicero?  You gave him manumission to be your footman when he grew up, and he and I were playmates after I came to you when I was orphaned, for as your page, he had as much licence as if he was your son.”

“Are you certain?”

“Why, ‘tis for appearances; he can help me with my neck-cloths and to put my coats on; he will not see me naked as a footman would do of a master who is a man.  I am capable enough, I think, to bathe and dress by myself on the whole.”

“He is devoted to you,” said Lady Chistermere. “I do wonder if I did him a disservice in having him  educated with you, and as extensively as any young gentleman.”

“The disservice you did him was in making him a footman, not buying him a commission, or sending him to sea as a captain’s servant to work his way up to officer, or ... or adopting him.”

“My dear! Think of the scandal if I adopted a black boy! Everyone would say I had had an affair with someone on Chistermere’s plantations!”

“More likely they would think he was Chistermere’s get,” said Antonia, dryly.

“Whichever, it would create a terrible stir!” said Lady Chistermere.

“You are too nice about such things these days,” said Antonia, severely. “Why, grandpapa said you wanted to free all Chistermere’s slaves when you first married him.”

“There is a difference between ideals and practicalities; and moreover there is a difference between a Christian desire to aid one’s fellow beings and in having a black son,” said Lady Chistermere.

“I found him a perfectly amiable playmate and companion,” said Antonia. “He was no different to any little boy, I wager, and better-natured than some.”

“I hope you will not permit him to be too familiar,” said Lady Chistermere

“He has to be familiar enough to be a true enough friend for me to carry off the imposture,” said Antonia.

“Oh, my dear girl, do be careful not to think of him as a friend; he is, after all, a servant,” said Lady Chistermere.

Antonia looked down and smiled dutifully. For all her youthful lack of convention, Lady Chistermere was as hedged about by convention as any other woman her age.  Antonia had played with Cicero without considering either his skin colour or that he was a slave, when they were both children. His friendship had gone further in assuaging her grief in losing her grandsire, father, mother, older sister and baby brother in one fell swoop than all the slightly suffocating embraces to her aunt’s rather stiflingly ample bosom.

“I do not need to worry what people will think, you know,” she said.  “After all, an heiress is never insane, merely eccentric.”

“Well, yes, I suppose so,” said Lady Chistermere.  “And you are my heiress too, as I did not have any offspring before Chistermere died, and Chistermere was only knighted for services to trade in any case, so no worries about titles.  My dear, will not people think this country cousin seeks to inherit your Papa’s title?”

“I can make it clear I have no interest in it,” said Antonia.  “Which I do not, and as there is no son to carry on the entail, the king can pass it to whomsoever he wishes. I have no desire to see Foyle Place ever again. It has too many sad memories for me.”

“Well, my love, I know you too well and I know that you will do exactly as you wish,” sighed Lady Chistermere.  “And I will go up to town claiming to have left you with a governess while I oversee refurbishing Chistermere’s town house.  Which is not unreasonable.  Then I will be there for you.  But you can break it to Cicero!”

“I am happy to do so; I have not seen him since I came back from school,” said Antonia. “I will ring and ask him to attend.”

“And I will let you explain, and withdraw,” said her aunt.

Antonia was not about to complain, for she would have felt constraint speaking to her old friend in her aunt’s presence.

 

 

 

“You rang, miss?” Cicero himself answered the bell. Antonia regarded him critically.  He was a youth perhaps two years her senior, and had grown tall and well-built, and of a complexion so dark that Antonia thought he looked as though he might have been hewn out of ebony.  She thought some scorn on her aunt’s protestations regarding scandal, for it was plain Cicero had not a drop of white blood in him.  He was dressed in the livery of her aunt’s house, scarlet and laced with gold, which looked very fine against his dark skin, but the powdered wig did not, thought Antonia, suit him.

“You were used to call me ‘Toni’ when we were little, Siz,” she said.

He regarded her with a bleak look.

“That was when I was twelve and you were ten, miss,” he said. “Before we understood how the world works, and before I realised that my lot was always to be a servant, and that I was not permitted to be a friend to a free white girl.”

“Well, I disagree with my aunt’s decision to make you a footman when she could have sent you to university, or into the navy or any number of things your education and intellect suited you for,” said Antonia, indignantly.  “Why have you stayed to be humiliated by being a footman?”

His eyes would not meet hers.

“I had no other place to go,” he said.

“Siz! Do not lie to me; I still count you my friend,” said Antonia. “I remember how you showed me the carp in the pool, and a squirrel’s dray, and all manner of things when I came here, alone, frightened, grieving.  You made life worth living again.”

“I am glad I was able to perform such service,” he said, his voice lifeless.

She stamped her foot.

“Is it that my aunt has told you that you may not enter into the easy camaraderie we used to enjoy?” she asked.

“I am given to understand that you would not welcome too much familiarity,” said Cicero, and there was a snap to his voice.

“Oh Siz! You are my friend! You always understood what nobody else did, and you were there for me.  My aunt ... she has betrayed all her principles.  I always thought she planned to adopt you, so you would be my cousin.”

“An English lady does not adopt a black child,” said Cicero.  “How could she have a child with a fanciful name like Cicero, and endure the mockery, especially if he ever wanted to be a barrister?”

“Do you?” asked Antonia.

“I don’t know; I have buried all ambition,” said Cicero. “Once, before I was brought to cold England to be a page, pampered and petted until no longer cute, like a kitten or a puppy which grows up and is relegated to the stables, I was named Will before then, and I made an effort to remember that.”

“Why did you not tell me?”

“I was afraid you would tell you aunt, who might punish me for wanting my own name back.”

“Well! You can call yourself anything you like, now; are you Will to the others?”

“No, they are used to me being called Cicero.”

“Have you taken a surname?”

“Yes; I call myself Will Cicero Libertus, because the Latin for freed man seemed appropriate.”

“Well! I was hoping that for friendship and for sport you would be ready to aid me,” said Antonia.

“I would do anything to aid you, any time, Miss ... Toni.”

“You’d better hear what I propose first; you may think it too madcap.”

“I have always gone along with your madcap schemes.”

He did not say, because it served no purpose to distress her unnecessarily, that he had been beaten for some of them.

“I am supposed to have a Season in London,” said Antonia.  “And I am afraid, because I am not knowledgeable about the world, that I will be bedazzled and taken in by some fortune hunter. I purpose to dress as a boy, pretending to be my own cousin, Anthony Foyle, and see what the young men on the town are really like.  And I will need a valet.”

“You are insane!  Your aunt will never permit it.”

“But she has agreed – and I want a dear friend to be my valet, and to help me to go on in town. But I do not want to coerce you to do so.”

He regarded her, his dark eyes fathomless.

“And when you have found out all you need, and have returned to being a woman; what then? Do I just return to being a footman, thank you, Will, forget your taste of freedom and friendship?”

“Of course not!  I would do my best to help you fulfil whatever ambition you have! I have a considerable allowance, and I could pay for you to go to university, or enter Chambers, or set up in business or whatever you want.”

“And if what I want is unobtainable?”

“You will have to compromise like everyone else does,” said Antonia.  “Like I am told I have to marry someone in order to produce an heir for my late father, which I don’t care about, the king can always award it to someone deserving if you ask me, but there are difficulties made over a woman administering her own money. But if I must marry, it must be to someone I like and respect.” 

“And that is hard to discover in the constrained atmosphere of social meetings,” said Will. “I understand.  I will help you to find your husband.  Will you tell him the truth?”

“If he cannot handle the truth, how could I respect him?” asked Antonia.

He smiled, carefully trained now not to show his brilliantly white teeth.

“Indeed,” he said.