The Corvette Read Online Free PDF Page A

frigate going large, sir.’ Looking up he saw Mr Quilhampton’s face excited by their speed, some eight or nine miles to the hour.
    Drinkwater smiled at the young man’s pleasure and drew back into the coach. Since his breakfast with Lord Dungarth it had been a busy day of letter writing and last minute purchases. There had been a brace of pistols to buy and he had invested in a chronometer and a sextant, one of Hadley’s newest, which now nestled beneath his feet. They had seen the bulk of their luggage to the Black Swan at Holborn and left it in the charge of Tregembo to bring on by the slower York Stage.
    He and Quilhampton had arrived at Lombard Street just in time to catch the Edinburgh Mail, tickets for which Quilhampton had purchased earlier in the day. He smiled again as he remembered the enthusiasm of Mr Quilhampton at the sight of the shining maroon and black Mails clattering in and out of the Post Office Yard, some dusty from travel, others new greased and washed, direct from Vidler’s Millbank yard and ready to embark on their nocturnal journeys. The slam of the mail boxes, shouts of their coachmen and the clatter of hooves on the cobbles as their scarlet wheels spun into motion was one of affecting excitement, Drinkwater thought indulgently as he settled back into the cushions, and vastly superior to the old stage-coaches.
    The lady opposite returned his smile, removing her poke bonnet to do so and Drinkwater suffered sudden embarrassment as he realised that not only had he been grinning like a fool but his knees had been in intimate contact with those of the woman for some minutes.
    ‘You are going to join your ship, Captain?’ Her Edinburgh accent was unmistakable as was the coquettish expression on her face.
    ‘Indeed, ma’am, I am.’ He coughed and readjusted his position. The woman was about sixty and surely could not suppose
     
    ‘Catriona, my niece here,’ the lady’s glove patted the knee of a girl in grey and white sitting in the centre of the coach, ‘has been visiting with me in London, Captain, at a charming villa in Lambeth. Do you live in London, Captain?’
    Drinkwater looked at the girl, but the shadow of her bonnet fell across her face and the lights would not be lit until the next stop. As she boarded the coach he remembered her as tall and slim. He inclined his head civilly in her direction.
    ‘No, ma’am, I live elsewhere.’
    ‘May one ask where, sir?’ Drinkwater sighed. It was clear the widow was determined to extract every detail and he disliked such personal revelations. He answered evasively. ‘Hampshire, ma’am.’
    ‘Ah, Hampshire, such a fashionable county’
    As Mistress MacEwan rattled on he smiled and nodded, taking stock of the other passengers. To his left an uncomfortably large man in a snuff-coloured coat was dozing, or perhaps feigning to doze and thus avoid the widow’s quizzing; while to his right a soberly dressed divine struggled to read a slim volume of sermons in the fast fading light. Drinkwater suspected he, like the corpulent squire, affected his occupation to avoid the necessity of conversation.
    There was, however, no doubt about the condition of the sixth occupant of the swaying coach. He was sunk in a drunken stupor, snoring gracelessly and sliding further down in his seat.
    ‘
    And at the reception given by Lady Rochford, Catriona was fortunate enough to be presented to
    ‘
    The widow MacEwan’s prattle was beginning to irritate him. The overwhelming power of her nonsense was apt to give the impression that all women were as ridiculously superficial. His thoughts turned to Elizabeth and their children and the brief note he had written to her explaining the swift necessity of his departure. Elizabeth would understand, but that did not help the welling sadness that filled his heart and he cursed the weakness acquired from a long convalescence at home.
    ‘
    And then the doctor advised the poor woman to apply poultices of green hemlock