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

dudgeon, and an oblivious Mr. Pickett talked on.
    “…and, by jingo, it worked, because I shot past him and the scoundrel ran himself on a sandbar! I always say, when a gentleman goes in for a sport, he ought to play to win,” said Mr. Pickett. He noticed the teapot, looked uneasily from Mrs. Corvey to Lady Beatrice, and at last made up his mind. “Ah—Miss Beatrice, ma’am, I believe it would be correct to ask you to do the pouring?”
    “I should be delighted,” said Lady Beatrice smoothly.
    Tea was served round, and Mrs. Corvey was elated to discover that, whatever animus the cook might bear her master, it did not influence her culinary performance; at least as far as cress sandwiches and tiny cakes were concerned. Wonder if she can do water ices, Mrs. Corvey speculated.
    “I hope this meets with you ladies’ approval,” said Mr. Pickett. “Fine old English custom, afternoon tea.”
    “It is really quite pleasant, Mr. Pickett,” Lady Beatrice assured him. He positively beamed at her. She took a long, slow sip of tea, keeping her eyes fixed steadily on his, and was interested to note the color rise in his face.
    Mrs. Corvey noted it also.
    “Why—thank you, ma’am,” said Mr. Picket.

“You are most welcome, dear Mr. Pickett. Do you not find that the sea air gives one a prodigious appetite?” said Lady Beatrice. Still holding his gaze, she sank her white teeth into a bun.
    Mr. Pickett coughed. “I do indeed, Miss Beatrice.”
    During the ensuing conversation, through which Mr. Pickett was unable to tear his eyes from the slow progression of delicacies towards Lady Beatrice’s red lips, Mrs. Corvey grew silent and at last unobtrusively set her cup and saucer to one side. Composing herself in a comfortable attitude, she feigned sleep. Lady Beatrice, who had been half-expecting this development, glanced sideways at her and spoke in a lowered voice to Mr. Pickett.
    “Oh! Dear Mamma has fallen asleep. Perhaps it is the unaccustomed exercise.” She set down her own cup and saucer on the depleted tea tray. “Let us not disturb her. Have you anywhere private wherein we may continue our conversation, Mr. Pickett? A garden, perhaps?”
    “Why, there is indeed a garden, Miss Beatrice,” Mr. Pickett whispered loudly, rising and offering her his arm. “Your servant, ma’am!”
    Lady Beatrice rose, took his arm, and with serene and unshakeable purpose led him out upon the terrace.
     

     
    Mrs. Corvey, once well-assured of privacy, rose and swiftly approached the roll top desk at the far end of the room. She was pleased to see the desk was open and unlocked, rendering her set of lock picks unnecessary. Rapidly she sorted through the papers scattered here and there on the desk. They consisted principally of receipts and bills of trade from wholesale dealers in iron and steel, timber, and chemicals of the sort most commonly used in the manufacture of incendiary devices; all of which Mr. Pickett appeared to have purchased in remarkably large quantities. There was also a long list of accounts of what appeared to be wages paid to laborers, as well as pages of extensive correspondence with a Mr. Shrove, who seemed to operate a foundry.
    In addition to these, Mrs. Corvey found some rather heated correspondence with an American banking house, contrasting with rather more cordial letters of inquiry to one Mr. Lawrence, a house agent. Mr. Pickett certainly seemed well-supplied with funds, and determined to stay in England.
    Nothing more of importance was to be found, though Mrs. Corvey searched diligently, and long before she heard approaching footsteps had returned to the settee. She watched sidelong as Mrs. Drumm, accompanied by the housemaid, peered into the room.
    “Looks like they’ve finished,” the housemaid murmured.
    Mrs. Corvey sat upright and in her sweetest and most tremulous voice called out: “Is someone there?”
    Mrs. Drumm cleared her throat. “Shall we take away the tea things,