Lady Violet Cunningham

Lady Violet stood sipping her early morning coffee, a small smile on her lips. Within the tumbled sheets and coverlets of her bed lay her husband, still sleeping off the effects of post connubial bliss. However, the scent of her coffee must have reached him, for his nose began to twitch like a rabbit's, and one eye opened. "Violet, is that ambrosia I smell, coffee?" "Yes, dear, it is. If you would bestir yourself, I will pour you a cup." Albert sat up, his night cap askew and his graying hair wild. He grinned at her. "My, my, haven't had a night like that in a long time, eh wife? May hap we should spend more time in the Royal Grace. It seems to have an efficacious effect on us." Violet handed him a cup of coffee. "Don't be rediculous, Albert. You will not be hauling me off to the inn like some trollop every time the itch is upon you." He winked at her. "Had a bit of an itch yourself, deary. Not that I'm complaining." Despite herself, she smiled. "Yes, well, it was rather...boistrous, wasn't it? But now I have a task to perform, so—" He tugged at her bed gown and she slapped his hand away. "I need to get dressed with no more distractions. And you need to return to Trade Winds. Or do you intend to loiter in town waiting to see if that Sterling character is hanged?" Her husband's expression sobered. "I have filed a formal complaint, but I have no desire to see the man hanged. Hangings always put me off my food. Lady Violet knew that to be a blatant falsehood. Nothing ever put Albert off his food.

Since arriving at the Royal Grace, Lady Violet was forced to endure disapointment after disappointment. Her usual room overlooking the street wa already occupied by a rude gentlemen who refused to give it up, and who had slammed the door in her face when she had attempted to explain the gravity of his error. If that were not bad enough, Mr. Spindlethorpe was on the verge of nervous collapes, babbling on about raving Scots, shifty Spaniards, and a near riot in his kitchen, which had caused his cook to run screaming from the building. The final straw was, due to the fact that the inn was full, she found herself in the appalling situation of having to share her room with her husband. Insted of going to his club, Albert had descended on the Royal Grace and jokingly referred to their shared sleeping arrangement as a "nice little love nest, to be sure." To give herself fortitude to endure all this unpleasantness, she imbibed a quantity of Irish whiskey, which Spindlethrp's servant had placed before her straight away on her arrival. Albert appeared in night cap, embroidered slippers with turned-up toes and tassels, and a short sleeping gown, beneath which his knobby knees looked white as turkey legs. He gave her a grin and said, "Coming to bed, dear?" Lady Violet slugged down a large dose of whiskey, gave a shudder, and resigned herself to her wifely duty.

Within the tomb-like darkness of his room, where the weak flame of only one candle cast a small circle of light on the bedside table, Ezekial Moses Spindlethorpe lay abed. A cool, damp cloth lay over his eyes. On the table stood a beaker that used to contain a sovereign tonic for spasms of the nerves. It was now empty, it's calming affect finally taking hold. Mr. Spindlethorpe was sure that his day - nay - his very life, could get no worse. As that thought settled into his flustered brain, there was a soft knock on his door, and Tomas, his servant entered. A renued feeling of dread settled itself within Mr. Spindlethorpe's soul. "Uh, sir, if you please. Lady Violet Cunningham is below demanding her usual room. As you know sir, Mr. Biggerstaffe is in that room, just come in from Boston. What shall I tell the Lady?" Before Mr. Spindlethorp could digest this new bit of unwelcome news, an explosion rattled the window and caused the beaker to fall from the table. "Oh God!" A throbbing pain developed behind Mr. Spindlethorpe's eyes as he rose dejectedly from his repose. "I suppose I must go down before her anger destroys the entire town. No doubt she has ordered one of her husband's ships to fire salvos at us, do we not give her the correct room." As Tomas left, his employer called desperatly, "Before I face that virago, make sure there is a quantity of Irish whiskey placed before her!"

When she finally arrived at the Royal Grace, it was well past dark. It had taken longer than she had anticipated for a few things to be packed and the coach readied. When she and her three servants sailed through the doors of the inn, she was surprised to discover all in disarray. She was informed that Mr. Spindlethorpe had taken to his bed in a near state of apoplexy. "What the devil is going on?" Lady Violet demanded of the trembling serving maids. One quivering girl answered, "Spaniards, rioting Scots, the kitchen in a shambles, cook run off—" "That's quite enough." Lady Violet stopped the hysterical girl in mid-sentence. "See that my things are taken up to my usual room. And I'll want a decanter of Irish whiskey sent up as well. And tell that simpering Spindlethorpe to get out of bed and take charge of things!" At that moment the usual bustle of evening was interrupted by the roar of an explosion. The poor servant girl fainted dead away. The other two ran shrieking from the common room. Sugar commenced to barking frantically. "Oh, what now?" Lady Violet asked in exasperation.

Lady Violet sat in the shade of a small garden pavilion. In front of her was a cloth-draped table on which was displayed a magnificent silver tea set. Steam rose from the spout of the ornate tea pot. In her pudgy hand she held a delicate china cup decorated in the blue Willow pattern, its contents a pale amber liquid that smelled lightly of jasmine. While she sipped her tea, Lady Violet thought about recent events, and how they would effect her or Albert. As she thought, she ws vaguely aware of the flora surrounding her. Not the quiet, civilized flowers and shrubs of her native England, but harsh, brilliant blooms, and aggressive plants with huge leaves, or thorns and spikes. This garden, she mussed, was a parody of the whole island - all bold color and spikes. For the present, it better suited her current mood. Albert had ridden into town to assure himself that Sterling had in fact been arrested for the murder of the plantation overseer. Lady Violet was glad Albert had gone, as he had become quite tedious with his rantings over the lost slaves. The slaves were not what was important. The arrest of Lord Sterling's son was. On top of that, there was the situation with her rebellious niece. That little issue needed dealing with, and soon. Lord Seymour wouldn't wait forever, and Lady Violet was determined to create an alliance with that still powerful family. She drank the last of her tea, tossed a bit of shortbread to Sugar, who had been begging and drooling at her feet, and decided that she, too, must make a trip into Port Royal.

As they were sitting down to breakfast, a messenger arrived at Trade Winds. A note was delivered to Albert by a servant. After opening and reading it, Lord Cunningham exclaimed, "Dear Lord!" Lady Violet looked up from her eggs and ham. "What has you so pious this morning, husband, that you feel compelled to annoy God?" Albert huffed. "Really, Violet, you can be so exasperating at times. Besides, you know better than to vex me before I've had my coffee." He waved the note. "The authorities have arrested a Captain John Sterling for the murder of our overseer. It seem justice shall be served after all." "How devastating for Lord Sterling, when he hears that his son has been hung." She took a bite of egg and washed it down with a sip of tea. "Too bad he couldn't have shot someone of importance, rather than be hung for killing a worthless brute such as Mr. Doddle. I fear it was just another example of Sterling's rash behavior, so well displayed to me on the docks." "Well, he won't have further opportunity for rash behavior. I dare say they will hang him right away, considering they have a witness to the foul deed." Lady Violet paused, a piece of ham impaled on her fork. "Shall we attend?"

It had been a long and trying day for Lady Violet. Albert was determined to reclaim the lost slaves, and had sent out search parties to other plantation owners to advise them to return his property if it showed up on their lands. Lady Violet thought the effort a waste of time. She was sure the slaves were either long gone, or dead. In either case, there was no sense in stressing over it. Trade Winds had hundreds of slaves, and this was the first time there had ever been a problem. No, it was not the slaves that had her in an agitated state of mind, but her niece. Lady Violet had written to Rudd informing him of the situatin with his sister. She had sent the missive off to the docks, with instructions that it be handed over to the captain of the Sweet Violet - the first of their brigs to be returning to England. She had hated to do it, but felt Rudd deserved to know why his sister would not be coming home. At least, not right away. Taking a sip from her whiskey glasas, she tried to decide what would be the best course of action in getting her niece to abandon her current, heathenish lifestyle. It would have to be something forceful, or the woman would simply igore it. With regret, Lady Violet decided she needed to return to Port Royal and have another discussion with her niece before setting anything else into action. If her niece refused to see her, or, after another meeting, still refused to go home, then Lady Violet would seek a private interview with the Governor - tedious little man that he was — and play her first card in this game of wits and wills.

The news of Sterling's death had not upset Lady Violet overmuch. Back in England, she'd heard all the rumors concernng Lord Sterling's illigitmate son, but there were dozens of lords with by-blows, both recognized and unrecognized. She did think it odd that Lord Sterling's had ended up in Port Royal, but then, she knew nothing of the man's life previous to what she'd seen the day she arrived, and that small glimpse had not impressed her. Then there was the vexing question about what to do with her niece. When she had informed Albert of her nieces appearace and actions, he had merely shrugged and advised her to forget the chit. "If the silly creature doesn't want to go back, there is nothing you can do to force her." Lady Violet wasn't so sure about that. There were several things she could do to force the woman's hand. But, did she want to use them? It irked her that the woman had so bluntly refused the chance to return to England and make a smart match. A spectacular match, to be exact, although if the gentleman in question could see his prospective bride now, he might change his mind. With a sigh of exasperation, Lady Violet poured herself another whiskey, then took out pen and paper to write Rudd Worthylake, and inform him of his sister's refusal of the offer of marriage. She fervently hoped that by the time Rudd received her letter, his sister would have come to her senses and changed her mind. Then she remembered the cold fire in the woman's eyes, and decided it would be highly unlikely that she would do so. However, Lady Violet loved a good challenge. She would not give up on the child. Not yet. Like the excellent card player she was, Lady Violet knew the game wasn't over until the last hand had been dealt. And Lady Violet abhorred losing.

Late in the afternoon a courier came from Port Royal. He handed a letter to Lord Cunningham, and with a salute, departed. Lady Violet followed her husbnad into his library, where he opened the missive, read it, then let out a,"Humph." "According to this, a witness had come forward and identified the man who shot Mr. Doddle." "Well, that should make you happy, dear. Who was the villain?" Lady Violet settled herself into a cushioned chair, and Suger jumped into her ample lap. "You won't believe it." Lord Cunninham perused the letter again, as if he himself had a hard time believing what was written there." What possible reason could the man have had?" "Who, dear?" Lady Violet said with a touch of impatience. "Why, the authorities say that a Captain John Sterling did the deed. Is that not the same man you encounted on the docks the day of your arrival? Lord Sterling's by-blow?" Lady Violet sniffed. "Doesn't surprise me in the least. As if his reckless behavior on that occation were not proof enough, I observed that due to some previous escapade, he has lost an eye. Mr. Doddle probably made some ill-advised remark to the man, and this Captain Sterling — and I still have misgivings as to the validity of that title — took a dislike to it, and shot him. I can not say that I am sorry Mr. Doddle is dead, for as I told you, I never like the man nor his methods. However, that does not mean that this John Sterling should not be brought to justice." "He has been brought to justice, of a sort. He's dead as well. According to this letter, his body is being shipped back to England." Lady Violet patted Sugar's small head. "Well, there's an end to it, then. Shall I order supper?"

It had been a long, trying day for Lady Violet. As she had expected, the Governor had arrived with two dozen guards, and had, as predicted, stayed long enough toeat them out of house and home. The guards had searched the plantation, terrified the slaves, and made a general nuisance of themselves, which put Lady Violet in a fit of temper. As she stood on the verandah watching the coach and horsemen depart for Port Royal, she turned to her husband. "Well, Bertie, are you satisfied with your little tempest in a teacup? The larder is empty, the slaves won't be fit to work for a week, and, other that reaffirming the knowledge that Mr. Doddle was an extremely odious man, what have you gained?" "I have gained the satisfaction of knowing that some attempt at justice has been done, and that the slaves will not have rebellion on their minds." "Posh," Lady Violet waved a hand. "They didn't have rebellion on their minds to begn with." She turned away from the crushed-shell drive. "I feel the need of a bracing whiskey. Will you join me, dear?" "Certainly. Listening to your addled interpretation of the day's events would drive any man to drink." "Really? And here Mr. Kennedy led me to believe you were in transports of joy at the thought of my company, and my opinions, back at Trade Winds again." Lord Cunningham's bushy white brows rose. "Transports of joy!" "His very words," Lady Violet repleid, as she strolled into the sitting room and ordered a servant to bring the decanter. "I see he was mistaken." Her husband blustered, muttered under his breath, then approached her and took her hand. Giving it a polite kiss, he said, "Well, er, yes, I am glad you had a safe voyage, my dear, but I do wish you did not feel compelled to stick...er...offer your opinion on the running of the estate." With a smile, Lady Violet downed her first glass of whiskey, then replied, "My dear Albert, did I not express my opinions about the running of this estate, it would have gone to ruin years ago." Lord Cunningham took the decanter and poured himself a double.

The foreman, trembling from head to foot, and casting furtive glances at Lord Cunningham, then at the gun mounted on the wall behind him, faced Lady Violet. "All I know is that Mr. Doddle were found dead, and the slaves livin' in the shack were gone. 'Couse I asked around, but no one saw anythin', nor would they admit it ifn they did. You know how secretive slaves be, always lookin' at ya with them dark eyes, or making funny signs with their hands. Puttin' curses on an honest man, most likely. Why—" "That's quite enough." Lady Violet held up a hand. "Don't waste my time talking useless babble. If you've nothing helpful to impart, you may go." The foreman touched his forelock and fled the library. Lady Violet turned to her husband. His face was still flushed, his wig askew, and he had spilled whiskey on his weskit. "Honestly, Bertie, you are a mess. However, I can see why you are upset. The incompetence of the people employed here is beyond belief. And you really should not have notified the governor. Think, dear. Soon a whole division of guardsmen will descend on Trade Winds, eat us out of six months supplies of food and drink, then depart, having solved nothing." Albert glared at her. "Violet, if you do not wish me to take down that gun and shoot you, I beg you to leave this library at once. You are sticking that pointed little nose of yours into things that are not your concern." Lady Violet puffed out her chest and let her steely gaze skewer her husband. "And you, Bertie, are acting like a fool. Now, go and clean yourself up before the governor arrives. No, no, don't protest. You know he will come himself, groveling at your feet, making apologies for the fact that they haven't, as yet, caught or hanged anyone for the crime." Her husband fumed, sputtered, then stormed from the room. His parting remark being, "I sincerely wish, madame, that you had remained in England!"

"I am not in a foul temper. I am incredulous. I am dumbfounded. I am enraged. I am—" "Yes, yes, Albert, I can see that you are a trifle out of temper." Lady Violet walked to a side table and reached for a decanter. "Here, let me pour you some whiskey." "I don't require any blasted whiskey. What I require are answers, and this pathetic excuse for a foreman," Albert gestured to the man still cowering in the corner, "has none to give me." "What is the question, dear?" Lady Violet handed her husband a whiskey, then poured one for herself. "What is the wha...?" He took the glass and drained it. "The qestions are, what happened to a family of slaves, and who killed the overseer, Mr. Doddle." Lady Violet wrinkled her nose. "I never did like Mr. Doddle. He was a beastly man, so I can't say that I am sorry to hear of his demise." Lord Cunningham sputtered. "Not sorry! My dear Violet, if the slaves killed him and then fled, what sort of thoughts do you think that will put into the minds of the rest of the cane workers? Neither one of us would be safe putting a foot out of doors." "You are overreacting, Albert. We treat our slaves with the utmost civility. They do not starve, and if they are sick, we care for them. What possible reason could they have for killing us? No, I suspect Mr. Doddle did something odious, and paid the price for it." Lady Violet poured her husband another glass of whiskey. "The one you should be talking to is Mr. Kennedy. He hired Mr. Doddle, did he not?" "And what of the family?" Lord Cunningham ranted on. "Two healthy adults and two girl childs. My property! Either stolen or run off." He downed the second whiskey. "Wouldn't surprise me if those blasted Devareauxs were hiding them. Land owners they might be, but they're still gypsies, when it comes down to it. Nefarious lot, you mark my words." "Oh, Bertie, do shut up." Lady Violet drank down the last of her whiskey and with a clunk, set the heavy glass on the table. "The Devareauxs have no interest in our slaves, and have been quite cordial on the rare occations we have met. You are being rediculous." "Well, rediculous or not, I have notified the authorities in town. No one damages or steals my property and gets away with it, Madame. No one!" Lady Violet gave up trying to reason with her husband. She turned to the man in the corner. "Stop whimpering, sir, and tell me what you know."

When the coach finally arrived at the plantation house, Lady Violet, anticipating a warm reunion with her husband, was annoyed to discover he was ensconced in his library with one of the overseers. Shouting could be heard through the door. The servants scuttled silent and furtive as mice as they took her parcels and trunks up to her room. An air of edgy fear permeated the house. Lady Violet turned to Mr. Kennedy. "What the devil is going on?" "I'm sure I don't know, your Ladyship. When I departed yesterday, all was well, and Lord Cunningham was in transports of joy at your homecoming." Lady Violet cocked her head. "At the present moment, he does not appear to be overcome by transports of joy. If he doesn't stop shouting in that unbecoming manner, he will have a fit of apoplexy. Do go in and see what is wrong." Mr. Kennedy blanched. "Oh, no, your Ladyship. It would be more than my life is worth to open that door. Why, in his agitation, he might take that blunderbuss off the wall and shoot me." "Don't be absurd." Lady Violet cast another look at the heavy oak door of the library. Even though it was made of ship timber, it did little to muffle the voice of her husbnd as he railed at the poor unforetunate person trapped with him. "Very well, if your courage isn't up to the task, Mr. Kennedy, I suppose I must storm the fortress myself." Taking a deep breath, and handing Sugar to the plantation manager, Lady Violet opened the door and stepped into her husband's inner sanctum. With rage in his eyes, he turned to see who had interrupted him. When he caught sight of his wife, his eyes bulged from his flushed face. "Good God, woman, can you not see that I am engaged in business. Do remove yourself at once." Lady Violet remained where she was and shut the door. "Why, Bertie, dear," she always called him Bertie when she wished to get his attention, for he loathed the nickname, "whatever has put you in so foul a temper, and why is that poor man cowering in the corner like a whipped dog?"

Lady Violet was not happy with the way the interview with her niece had gone. She had known the girl to be stubborn, especially when it came to matters of marriage. Even a year in Italy hadn't produced a man willing to take her to wife. And here was the woman, even more stubborn than the child, refusing a perfectly good offer and a chance to return to her family home. However, now that Lady Violet had seen her wayward niece, she had serious misgivings on whether she could ever fit into society again. She was quite sure her neice had committed unspeakable deeds, and the cold set of her eyes told of unspeakable things done to her. For all she might wish it, Lady Violet could not picture the woman who had flung the whiskey glass, sitting politely among a group of gossiping ladies. As the coach bumbled along toward Trade Winds, Lady Violet resigned herself to the fact that it was highly unlikely that her niece would call on her again. Especially after that horrid scene in the hall at the Royal Grace. As much as she deplored the obviouse fact that the two had spent the night together, Lady Violet could not help but notice that the man was exceedingly handsome - in a dark, rather mysterious way. "I wonder who he is?" she muttered, and gave Sugar a little pat on the head. Sugar thanked her mistress for this attention by drooling on her silk dress.

I believe, dear, you are mistook again. My servants are all of English heritage, and have not left my side since we landed in Port Royal. Have you concidered seeing a doctor?

At sight of her neice, Lady Violet stopped short, clamping her hand around Sugars yapping jaws. With a regal stare down her patrician nose, her grey eyes focused on the man standing just behind, then focused back on her neice. "Well, I surmise, by your discheveled clothing and flushed countenance, that you do not merely dress as a wanton, you act as one. I hardly think this is the best way to win your way back to societies good graces, should you chose to do so. I will write to your brother, and inform him of your lack of...of decency." Her neice's initial look of shock, changed to one of iron coldness. "You forget, I also communicate with my brother. He will hear my version of this as well - all of it. I will leave it for him to choose which tale he prefers to believe. Now, if you don't mind, we were on our way downstairs." "Oh, far be it from me to interupt your sordid little affair." Lady Violet turned to her speechless and wide-eyed servants. "Come, Children. You must ignore this unfortunant scene." And with her chest thrust forward, Lady Violet continued on her way down the stairs, out the door to the street, and the waiting carriage.

Lady Violet had not known what to expect should her wayward niece actually respond to her summons. She hadn't known for certain if the child would even be in Port Royal. Child? No, the person sitting across from her was no child. More a stranger. And it was not because of her scandalous, masculine way of dress, or the weapon at her side. It was the coldness in the woman's eyes. A steely hardness which could only have been forged by years of harshness no man should have to endure, let alone a woman. However, Lady Violet had an obligation to fulfill, and news to impart. "The first thing I must inform you of, Ran..." She waved a gloved hand. "I cannot possiblly call you by that atrocious name." "Call me by my birth name, and this little tete-a-tete is over." Lady Violet concluded there would be no pleasantries during this conversation. Bluntness would be the only way. "Your father is dead." Her niece merely smiled. "I'm sure it wasn't due to remorse." "Hardly. He died of smallpox. As did your oldest brother." The whiskey glass poised in a suddenly still hand. "And Rudd?" "Rudd is now master of Thornbures. I'm sure you realize the significance of that." "Oh yes. It means that Rudd, instead of being able to escape, is now trapped in that family pile for the rest of his life." "Don't prevaricate. It means you can go home. You can return to the society into which you were born." Her niece laughed. "Go home? Insinuate myself back into society, exchange idle gossip, drink watered wine, and have fatuous, weevil-brained lordlings drooling over my hand? With my damaged virture like a brand on my forehead, do you honestly think society is going to welcome me back to its bosom with open arms?" Lady Violet prided herself on being able to maintain her composure under the most aggravating of situations. Her niece was testing that ability to its fullest. "Don't be absurd," she snapped. "Of course society is not going to crush you to its bosom. Nor is it going to invite you to its townhouses, its country estates, or its garden parties. Not at first. However, with time, and under the auspices of the proper person, you could find your place again, and a suitable match arranged. This time her niece gave a most unbecoming snort. "Suitable match? Hardly. Rudd would be lucky if he could pay some village blacksmith to take me to wife. No, I will not go back to England. If that was the goal of this meeting, then I fear you have failed to achieve it." "Very well." Lady Violet opened a drawer in the little side table on which stood the decanter of whiskey. From the drawer she took a sealed envelope and handed it to her niece. "If I cannot persuade you to return home, then maybe this will." She watched her niece read the inscription on the front, then turn the envelope over and run an index finger over the wax seal. Then the eys of the woman now calling herself Ransom went even colder, and with calm defiance, she tore the envelope into shreds and let the pieces fall to the floor. Lady Violet did not rein back her fury. "That, you obstinante child, was a extremely stupid thing to do."

When Lady Violet and her servants reentered the commn room of the Royal Grace Inn, she was surprised to be greeted by Mr. Kennedy, shaking his head and tisking like an old woman. "Your Ladyship, I cannon stress strongly enough how unsafe it is for you to walk about Port Royal without a gentleman to accompany you. All manner of thugs and ruffians loiter in front of the taverns. You are not safe." Lady Violet waved a gloved hand. "While I admire your concern, Mr. Kennedy, I do wish you would not prattle on like a wet-nurse. I am perfectly capable of traversing the streets of Port Royal, and as you observe, have come to no harm." "None the less, I cannot but think that Lord Cunningham would not approve." "I dare say he wouldn't, but then, he's not here at the moment, is he?" Lady Violet turned her iron-grey gaze on Mr. Spindlethorpe, who had the misfortune to be in the common room at that moment. "Has anyone called for me this afternoon?" Mr. Spindlethorpe bowed referentially, hands folded as if in prayer. "I am devastated to say, no, Your Ladyship, no one has called for you at any time since you departed the Royal Grace for your sojourn about town." "Stubborn child," Lady Violet mumbled. Mr. Kennedy's brows rose. "Were you expecting someone?" "I had hoped...ah well, never mind. I hope you are here, Mr. Kennedy, to inform me that the coach from Trade Winds has finally arrived." "It is my very great pleasure to do just that. We can leave in the morning, after you have broken your fast." "Excellent!" Lady Violet exclaimed, then she, with Sugar asleep in the crook of her arm, and her small troop headed up the stairs to her room, Mr. Kennedy following attentively.

Lady Violet could not help but stare when the strange man entered the Three Crowns. She observed that with his black manner of dress, and sinister aspect, he looked the very incarnation of death. A little shiver went up her spine, and she inwardly chastised herself for the moment of weakness. Sugar, rather than bark at the newcomer, growled once, then shrunk further into the protection of her mistress's arm. When the tapster came over to see if Lady Violet required anything else, she motioned for him to bend down so she could whisper in his ear. "Who is that man all dressed in black?" The tapster looked up, then quickly down again. "I don't rightly know, Your Ladyship. He's never been in the Crown before. Looks a right blackguard, though." Then he straightened. "Would Your Ladyship be needing anything else?" "No. I beleive we will return to the Royal Grace." She pulled sufficient coin from her purse to pay the man, then stood. "Come, Children." And motioned for her three servants to gulp down the last of their small beer, which they did. As she swept out the door, Lady Violet made a point of not looking in the strange man's direction. Sugar started to growl, but Lady Violet clamped her hand over the dog's jaws, thinking this was not the best time for a show of bravado.

I see that my name has not made your list. A mere oversite, I'm sure, but do, dear, I pray you, try and be a little more observant, for it was I who sent PR into the next day.

By late afternoon it was apparent to Lady Violet there would be no reaction to the missive she had sent to the docks. It vexed her, but she was not overly surprised, considering the circumstances. However, she had hoped that a bit of civility had remained over the ensuing years. With a sigh, she decided she had waited longer than what was polite, and felt the need for some air. She put on her flowered sun hat, called to her servants, tucked Sugar into the crook of her arm, and like a flag ship, led the small armada down the stairs, through the common room and out into the street. Once there, she had no real plan of action, but strolled along enjoying the bustle. She noticed that most of the storm damage was rapidly being repaired or cleared away, and that business was pretty much back to normal. It would not be long before the coach from Trade Winds would arrive to take her inland and reunite her with Albert. Impervious to the heat, Lady Violet breasted through the crowds in front of the taverns, infuriated a street merchant when she stopped to gossip with an aquaintance, thereby blocking access to his wares, bought sugared treats for Kitty, Bess, and Timmon, and enjoyed herself immensely. The whole excursiion was accompanied by the constant barking of Sugar, who felt sure every strange face was a threat to her mistress. Sugar's yapping was eventually stiffled when Lady Violet stuffed a piece of pepper sausage into the dog's mouth, and the animal spent the next twenty minutes licking and drooling. After over an hour of walking, Lady violet felt the need of liquid refreshment. Finding herself in front of the Three Crowns, she enterd the establishment, commendeered a table, and signaled to the tapster. "A large ale, a dish of pickled eggs, and some decent bread and cheese, if you please, sir. And small beer for my servants. Oh, and a dish of water for my dog." The tapster, instantly recognizing his new patron, was quick to deliver her requests.

As was her custom, reguardless of how late she'd stayed up the previous evening, Lady Violet was awake and dressed by nine of the clock. While she waited for breakfast to be brought to her room, she sat at the little writing desk and penned a short note. She then folded it, sealed it, and called for Timmon. "Go fetch Mr. Spindlethorpe," she instructed the boy. Five minutes later there was a polite knock on her door. At her permission to enter, that funereal gentleman stepped forward and bowed. "How can I be of service to Your Ladyship?" She handed him the folded note. "I desire you to arrange to have this delivered to the ship I spoke to you about yesterday. The vessel is still in port, is it not?" "I have received no indication that it has left Port Royal as yet, Your Ladyship." He took the note from her. "Should I have the messenger wait for a reply?" "No, that won't be necessary." With another bow the man left, and Kitty shut the door, commenting, "He's a strange duck, isn't he, mam?" "More like a stork dressed as an undertaker, if you ask me," Lady Violet huffed.

Lady Violet spent a most enjoyable evening. It started with a suburb supper of pork cutlets in plum sauce, with a side dish of roasted potatoes, carrots and leeks. All were washed down with a very fine claret. Afterwards, she summoned a sedan chair, and with Sugar cradled in her arm, and Timmon to accompany her, she headed for her favorite gaming club. Once ensconced at a Faro table, she exchanged gossip with various aquaintances, therefore learning all the sordid details concerning the two murders, the shooting of John Sterling — which Lady Violet thought he most assuredly deserved — and the fire that destroyed The Shipp and a third of the town. She drank more claret, and, since she was a shrewd card player, tripled her original stake. At midnight she consumed a quantity of delights from the buffet table, returned to her cards, and won more money until Sugar began to fuss, and Lady Violet decided to end her evening. As she stumbled slightly to the door, a rotund gentleman remarked that she was so drunk she'd 'shot the cat', to which Lady Violet haughtily retorted that he should mind his own business. Now dressed for bed, she sipped from a posset consising of wine, shredded bits of bread, spices, and the juice of half a lime, all stirred together with a hot poker. Once that was finsihed, she settled into bed and fell instantly asleep. Unfortunately, her three servants were kept awake for what remainded of the night, due to their mistress's thunderous snoring.

After Mr. Kennedy had taken her letter and departed, Lady Violet ate a pleasing late lunch, then decided to spend the rest of the afternoon in repose. Before retiring, she instructed her maid, Kitty, to place shallow bowls of vinegar on the ledges of the open windows in an attempt to purify the foul air, the room being too hot to close them against it. Fortunately, Mr. Spindlethorpe had procured for Lady Violet the Irish whiskey, which she always found sovereign as a remedy for the over-excitment a long sea voyage always produced in her. Removing all but her chemise, she lay on the bed, Sugar curled at her side, and took a long nap. She could have sworn it was the sound of bells that woke her well after dark. Feeling much refreshed, she handed Sugar over to Timmon so he could take the little dog outside to perform its toilet. He left, the dog pulling frantically on its fine leather leash, its toenails clicking down the hall. Kitty turned to her mistress, and as she helped her to dress, informed her that a message had been left by Mr. Spindlethorpe while she was asleep. Kitty was to tell Lady Violet that the ship she had inquired about had returned to Port Royal. "Excellent," Lady Violet replied, pouring herself another dram of whiskey. "Most excellent."

Her room at the Royal Grace was better than Lady Violet had expected, if she ignored the vile odor wafting in through the open windows. Her maid quickly laid out a change of clothes, and as soon as the hot water and towels were delivered, Lady Violet washed, and was dressed in something looser and more comfortable. There was a rap on the door, and with her permission, Mr. Kennedy stepped into the room. "Is there anything esle you require, My Lady? If not, then I desire to ride to Trade Winds and inform Lord Cunningham of your safe arrival in Port Royal." "No, I require nothing more, other than that you delay your departure for another hour. I wish to write my dear Albert a letter, which you can deliver for me." "Certainly, My Lady." Mr. Kennedy bowed and left the room. Lady Violet made herself comfortable at a small writing desk, dipped pen to ink, and composed her letter. The Royal Grace Inn Port Royal, Jamaica My dearest Albert, As Mr. Kennedy has no doubt informed you, I have arrived safe and well in Port Royal. I must commend to you the Captain and crew of the Sweet Temptation, who were exemplary in their duties both to me and to the ship. I feel certain you will be interested to hear that, upon my arrival in port, I had a very annoying encounter with Lord Sterling's son by that woman of the streets. A most rude gentleman, and Mr. Kennedy was convinced the man was drunk. His reckless actions most certainly confirmed in my mind that it could be so. I also observed that he has been rash before, as he has received an injury to his left eye and has lost the use of it. But what I feel you will find most distressing, is that the man had the effrontery to inform me that we were neighbors, and that he might pay a call at Trade Winds. I cannot conceive how that could be possible, as the Devareauxs own all the land next to Trade Winds, and what possible connection could the Sterlings, sire or cub, have with them? On a business note, I would advise you, dear husband, to contact the proprietor of the Royal Grace and arrange to sell him some cases of Irish whiskey from the shipment aboard the Sweet Temptation. I was most distressed to discover there was not a drop to be found in this establishment, and that Mr. Spindlethorpe, the new owner, had need to comb Port Royal in order to provide me with a decanter. I remain your adoring wife, Violet