Her Master and Commander by Karen Hawkins Page A

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
     
     
    P rudence 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