A Ship's Tale Read Online Free PDF Page B

“I’ll give it a go, but it has to be at tea-time.”
    â€œNot to worry,” said Harris airily. “No place is far away when I’m driving.”
    â€œI’ve just remembered, I’ve some work to finish up at the Inn,” I said. Reaching for my pocket watch, I winced as I saw that it was after two o’clock in the morning. It was late…or early, depending how you looked at it. “I really must be going. I’ve enjoyed this evening, despite the work, and I look forward to seeing you again soon. Captain Bowman, Boris, Edward, and you, Harris—good night, everyone.”
    As I bundled up against the night, I was wondering just what the devil I had blundered into, and what I had let myself in for. Soon I would have to be making other plans, and this sounded a good deal more exciting than working at the Inn. We shook hands all around, and I quickly climbed the ladder into the night.

Chapter 2
    THE BEASLEY INN
    Next morning the shrill voice of Mrs. Beasley, landlady of the Beasley Inn, woke me. As she was directly beneath the window of my attic room, I couldn’t pretend to ignore her presence.
    â€œOh, Mr. Flynn, please come straightaway. Purdy has a poor little bird!”
    I rolled out of bed and pulled on my shirt, then went to the old casement and peered out. Below, my esteemed landlady and employer, her round figure swathed in an overcoat and a most astonishing nightdress, flitted heavily about the garden, arms flailing helplessly and grizzled hair flying. “Mr. Flyn-n-n,” she wailed.
    I had to wonder why people who own cats seem surprised whenever their pets capture a prize. These conquests, of course, customarily finish up with the termination of the luckless victim, following a lively round of recreational torture. Poor bird indeed. Miserable cat!
    Purdy! Overweight, overindulged, and into trouble several times daily. Damned thing. Until I pruned back a branch that was too close to my little room, I never dared leave my window open for air, since Purdy made it his job to creep in whilst I was asleep or away. Once inside, he would not only give the bedclothes a liberal spraying, but was also thoughtful enough to leave a similar, more solid gift in my shoe. Once he ate a bird—or part of it—on my pillow. Of course, Mrs. Beasley refused to believe that her darling could be guilty of such villainy and in fact now regarded me with a degree of suspicion for having suggested it. I thought wistfully, what a handsome fur neckpiece one could fashion from a large cat pelt.
    â€œMr. Flynn, Martin, Katherine!” Mrs. Beasley cried. “You bad puss! Drop it! Drop it, I say!” I knew that neither the barman, Martin nor Katherine, the combined pastry cook and waitress, would pay any attention to her. It was my job. What a fearsome spectacle, to see this formidable lady acting the helpless female.
    I heaved a martyr’s sigh as I pulled on my trousers and shoes. I descended stairs and stepped into the sunshine, blinking with a slight bit of hangover from the night before. I was new to this area and had been here almost a week. Aside from Mrs. Beasley’s alarms and her abrasive personality, it was quiet and restful. It was just a temporary job, but I was pleased with my position as gardener and groundsman for the property. The main pub building boasted a few guestrooms with combination pub and dining room in addition to three small one-bedroom cottages in the surrounding gardens. Mrs. Beasley was proud of her culinary prowess but she was not opposed to taking some credit for the skill of the pastry cook as well. A placard at the door of the pub read: Serving Luncheon, Tea, High Tea And Late Suppers By Arrangement. Another card advised: Bed And Breakfast Seasonally. By all accounts, the place was quite lively in the summer.
    As I crossed the lawn, I encountered the thoroughly dishevelled Mrs. Beasley standing near her parlour door holding Purdy, a