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

left for America when Oliver Cromwell was running things over here. They should have gone back home after things were set to rights, but they didn’t, somehow. They stayed on in America, which was a fatal mistake. It’s no country for gentlemen, that is for certain sure.”
    “I have heard that opinion expressed,” said Lady Beatrice cautiously.
    “Well, I’m here to tell you it’s true. I have turned my back forever on the land of my nativity and returned to the mother country! What kind of a nation is it, I ask you, that puts a miserable county tax assessor in a position to insult a man of quality? With impunity too, may I say, because you just can’t demand satisfaction of that kind of low-born churl.”
    “I am so sorry to hear it, Mr. Pickett,” said Lady Beatrice, noting the red glare in his eyes as he worked himself into a rage. She predicted he would gnash his teeth next, and was obscurely pleased with herself when he did so.
    “Varlets! That is just exactly the word for what they are, Miss Beatrice. A whole nation of varlets. I will not dismay you with an account of the circumstances of my departure; I will only say I suffered intolerable abuse at the hands of petty tyrants. No, I’m well rid of America and pleased as punch to be back on my true ancestral soil. I want nothing more than to become as one hundred per cent an Englishman outwardly as I am in my heart.”
    “What a noble goal,” said Lady Beatrice, thinking to herself that it was going to be a long evening.
     

     
    Mrs. Corvey sat in her appointed chair against the wall, sipping from her cup of punch and watching the dancers. The waltz ended; couples disengaged, bowed or curtsied, and most made for the punchbowl. Mr. Pickett showed no signs of relinquishing Lady Beatrice, however. He called for a galop, the orchestra struck up a lively tune, and Mr. Pickett and Lady Beatrice went speeding away down the dance floor. A pair of misses settled down two chairs from Mrs. Corvey, fanning themselves energetically.
    “Well!” said one of the young ladies. “Mamma won’t be pleased. He seems quite taken by that minx in the red gown.”
    “She’s welcome to him,” said the other young lady with a shudder. “He really is the most frightful eccentric!”
    “I thought I should die laughing at that accent!”
    The other miss leaned toward her friend, and in what was presumably her best imitation of stern matronly tones said: “But, my dear, he’s as rich as Croesus!”
    “There is that,” said the first young lady. “Tabby says he’s paid a year’s lease on Waldon House.”
    “A year’s lease! Fancy living here year-round. He isn’t going up to London for the season?”
    “I don’t believe he is aware of our customs,” said her friend primly. “Why are the rich ones always complete barbarians? Mamma said that she heard he intends to buy the land along the cliff tops by St. Mary’s Bay, because he wishes to build a mansion there.”
    “Fancy anyone wanting to live over there with no Society but the sheep!”
    “Clearly he is of a romantic nature,” said the one. The other rolled her eyes and they lifted their fans to discreetly mask their giggles.
    At this point Mrs. Corvey spotted Herbertina emerging from the bar in a cloud of cigar smoke. She hurried to the punch table, ladled herself a drink, and took a seat beside Mrs. Corvey.
    “My God, he’s smitten with her, isn’t he?” she said, nodding her head in the direction of Lady Beatrice and Mr. Pickett.
    “Seems to be,” said Mrs. Corvey.
    “Several fellows were discussing him in the bar,” said Herbertina. “They’re all sick with envy for his racing yacht. Designed her himself, someone said. I gather she’s won three races already. The Sceptre , I think they said she’s called.”
    “Anyone know why he talks like a Stepney greengrocer?” said Mrs. Corvey.
    “People assume he’s a bit mad, though they agree he’s brilliant at ship building,” said Herbertina