Read Nell Gwynne's On Land and At Sea for Free Online Page A

smiled, murmured polite remarks and now and then raised an eyebrow for his benefit. She had been asked to feign ignorance of much stranger things in a professional capacity.
    Mrs. Corvey, forgotten behind them, watched with interest as a man in a workman’s clothes emerged from one of the three cottages. He looked up at Mr. Pickett with obvious recognition and started forward across the cliff top, apparently intending to speak with him. Having covered slightly less than half the distance, however, he seemed to notice Lady Beatrice’s presence and halted in his tracks. He watched uncertainly for several minutes before seemingly changing his mind and hurrying back to the cottages, glancing several times over his shoulder on his way. Within the shading edge of her bonnet, Mrs. Corvey’s lenses turned just enough to bring the face of none other than Mr. Felan into focus. Having noted this well, Mrs. Corvey nodded thoughtfully and returned her attention to Mr. Pickett’s monologue.
    Keen and fixed though her attention was, she nevertheless became conscious of a certain distraction, now that the carriage was motionless; a sort of thrilling vibration emanating upward, it seemed, though the very wheels. And was there a certain hollow musicality in the boom of the surf?
    “Are you quite all right, Mamma?” inquired Lady Beatrice; who, on glancing back at her, had noted Mrs. Corvey’s puzzled scowl.
    “Oh, quite all right, my dear; only I was thinking there’s such a funny noise to the sea hereabouts,” said Mrs. Corvey.
    “Why, that would be the caves,” said Mr. Pickett. “Lots of sea-caves here, ma’am.”
    “Sea-caves, to be sure,” said Mrs. Corvey. “Thank you, young man.”
     

     
    Profuse as he had been with his praises for the British on the ride out to St. Mary’s Bay, on the return journey Mr. Picket focused his admiration on Lady Beatrice in specific, although in a gentlemanly manner. The subject of elocution lessons was once again raised. Lady Beatrice obligingly set about correcting his vowel sounds and encouraging a greater crispness in his native drawl.
    Upon returning to Torquay, Mr. Pickett insisted that they take tea with him, an offer Mrs. Corvey accepted with enthusiasm.
    “It’s a nice place, but a little too modern for my tastes,” said Mr. Pickett, leading them up the walk of an ostentatiously grand house of recent construction. “I confess to being a man of old-fashioned preferences. It’ll do until I can build myself something better, though.” He drew a key from his pocket and let them in himself. “Service may be a little slow today; I gave that butler a piece of my mind and sent him packing this morning. No man makes a fool of Tredway Pickett, no sir.”
    He led them into a splendidly airy parlor with a view of the sea. It was, however, somewhat sparsely furnished; Lady Beatrice and Mrs. Corvey perched together on the single low settee, while Mr. Pickett dragged close an occasional table and set it before them. Having retrieved a chair from the desk in the far corner of the room, he sat opposite the ladies and bawled: “Alfred!”
    A moment later, a footman appeared in the doorway, showing a certain reluctance. “Alfred, kindly take the ladies’ bonnets and cloaks, and tell Mrs. Drumm I want her finest tea for three persons.”
    “Very good, sir.”
    Mr. Pickett entertained them with light conversation on the subject of his yachting triumphs, pointing with pride to the trophies on the mantelpiece, until tea was duly brought in by the cook and housemaid. The dainties arranged upon the tray—tiny sandwiches, petits fours and buns—looked delicious; but the cook (in keeping with the fierce temper implied by her fading red hair) glared so balefully at Mr. Pickett as she set them out that Mrs. Corvey half-expected them to be laced with arsenic. Cook’s unhappy in her situation, thought Mrs. Corvey to herself. She watched thoughtfully as Mrs. Drumm departed the room in highest