Lady Violet Cunningham

When Lady Violet's little party reached the Royal Grace Inn, Mr. Kennedy rushed to help her from the sedan chair and open the inn door. Once across the threshold, she was greeted by a tall, cadaverous-looking man she didn't recognize. "Where is Mr. Wheatly, the proprietor?" Lady Violet demanded, as three servant boys came to assist with her baggage. The man bowed, and folded his hands together as if in prayer. "I regret to inform your Ladyship, that Mr. Wheatly has shed his earthly shell, he has pierced the dark veil, he now basks in the glory—" "What the devil are you driveling on about?" "Dead, your Ladyship. Died of fever and the bloody flux not six months ago. I am Mr. Wheatly's cousin, Mr. Spindlethorpe, and am now the proud owner of the Royal Grace." Lady Violet had the sudden suspicion that her stay at the Royal was going to be even more dreary than previously expected. "Well, in that case, I will relate to you my immediate requirements. I desire hot water and clean towels, fresh bedding, lunch, preferably fish, and a decanter of Irish whiskey." Mr. Spindlethorpe's shoulders drooped further, and he answered in funereal tones, "I am devastated to inform your Ladyship that we have no Irish whiskey." "There are Irishmen in Port Royal, are there not?" "A veritable warren of them, your Ladyship." "Then there will be Irish whiskey. I suggest you find some." "I shall leave no corner of Port Royal unsearched until it can be procured for your Ladyship." The man's graveside tone was grating on Lady Violet's nerves. However, there was one more bit of business needing her attention. "I observe there are very few ships in the harbor." "Most likely due to the storm, My Lady. Those that have not been sunk will return shortly." "I am looking for one ship in particular, Mr. Spindlethorpe, which is currently not in Port Royal." "If you would but give me the name of the vessel which holds your interest, I will post a boy at the docks to watch for it, and inform your Ladyship of its arrival." Lady Violet gave him the name, then headed for the stairs leading to the first floor rooms. She paused halfway up and addressed Mr. Spindlethorpe one last time. "And pray, don't be too long with that whiskey."

"Why, that man is rude beyond belief!" Mr. Kennedy huffed. "Oh, do be quiet." Lady Violet waved an impatient hand, while her mind put together the pieces of the interesting conversation. So, she thought, Lord Sterling's by-blow is in Port Royal. And, she observed, acting as arrogant as his father. Bastard he might be, but the apple had apparently not fallen far from the parental tree. Lady Violet had always found Lord Sterling to be an insufferable bore, and was well aware of the fact that his wife had never accepted the boy, even after her own had died and the illigitimate son put in his place. And what was that bit about owning land next to Trade Winds? No one owned land next to Trade Winds, other than the Devareaux clan. What on earth could Lord Sterling's son have to do with them? It was a mystery she would take great pleasure in unraveling. Patting Sugar on the head, she settled back in the sedan chair, greatly looking forward to her stay in Jamaica, which had already started on such an exciting note. She couldn't wait to tell her dear husband, Albert, all about it."

Lady Violet inspected the man through narrowed eyes, while trying to stifle Sugar, who barked like something rabid. "You, Sir, are impertinent, and a danger to the road. You could have run down someone, not to mention injured your fine animal, who probably has more sense than you posses. I should adivse you to have more care, and although you profess to not being in your cups, you do a fine job of making everyone esle think you are roaring drunk." She placed her hand around the dog's yapping jaw, then snaped at the plantation manager. "Do go on, Mr. Kennedy. I've no desire to talk to ruffians, whether they be Captains or not." She turned her gaze back to the man on horseback. "I suspect, Mr. Sterling, that you are not a captain, for I doubt anyone would trust such a foolish lout with a ship. Good day, sir!"

The little cavalcade marched briskly to the end of the dock, where it came to a sudden halt as Lady Violet caught her first glimse of the condition of the street. She turned a steely-gray eye upon the plantation manager, and addressed him in a voice calculated to turn her servant's knees to jelly. "Mr. Kennedy. Surely you do not expect me to traverse that," gesturing at the steaming mud. Mr. Kennedy straightened his shoulders. "Of course not, My Lady. I have ordered a chair for your conveyance to the hotel. It is just—" As he pointed to the ordered mode of transport, it was leapt over by a man on horseback. "Who is that rash gentleman?" Lady Violet demanded, as horse and rider continued past them in what she considered to be a foolishly dangerous canter. "I have no idea, My Lady." Mr. Kennedy replied with a sniff. "The town is always full of rash gentlemen. I suspect he is intoxicated." At that moment Lady Violet's lap dog, Sugar, began to bark, quite viciously for her size, at the approaching sedan chair bearers. "Now, now, Sugar, my sweeting, let the nice men bring Mother a chair," Lady Violet cooed. Fortunately for Mr. Kennedy, Lady Violet did not see the roll of his eyes toward heaven.

"Why, thank-you, Sir."

Lady Violet Cunningham stood at the rail amidship on the Sweet Temptation, the brig - owned by her husband, Lord Sir Albert Cunningham - which had carried her across the Atlantic from England. The lady's figure and fulsome bosom greatly resembled the female figurehead gracing the prow of the brig, and Lady Violet had always thought the Italian carpenter had captured her likeness quite acuratly. She was to reunite with her husband, who had sailed to Jamiaca two months ahead of her on the Sweet Temptation's sister ship, the Sweet Violet, in order to assure that their plantation house, Trade Winds, would be suitably prepared for her arrival. It was their usual practice to visit Trade Winds every three or four years, to make sure the sugar plantation was running smoothly. Mr. Kennedy, the plantation manager, would meet her at the docks. She waited patiently while the ship was secured. Protecting her rather flushed face was a raffia sun hat whose brim was the circumferance of a wagon wheel, and whose crown was adorned with a garden in silk. In the crook of her arm, and pressed to her chest, was a small white lap dog who panted frantically in the heat, and whose pink tongue dripped saliva onto its mistress's silk sleeve. The dog's name was Sugar, which put name and temperment at odds. Standing behind Lady Cunningham was a train of three - two maids, Bess and Kitty, and Timmon, a servant boy. All three were laden with portmanteaus, band-boxes, cosmetic cases, and dog treats. The rest of her acroutremont would follow in a wagon. "Oh look, Children," Lady Violet said with excitment, "there's Mr. Kennedy. Woo hoo, Mr. Kennedy!" She waved a pudgy gloved hand at a man on the pier. Behind her, the Captain of the Sweet Temptation approached and bowed. "Your chair is ready, My Lady." "Thank-you, sir. Such a lovely voyage," Lady Violet purred, then let the captain escort her. There was no bosun's chair, which Lady Violet thought far too flimsy and precarious for her use. Rigged in its place was a stout cane chair affixed to a sling. The Captain assisted Lady Violet into the chair, which was padded with cushions, waited for her to settle her skirts, then signaled to the waiting sailors. With squeek of rope and pully, Lady Cunningham was slowly lowered to the pier, where Mr. Kennedy politely took her hand and hoisted her from the seat. "I hope you had a pleasant voyage, My Lady. Your poor husband has been in transports of worry since the hurricane, thinking he might have lost you." Lady Cunningham's haunty brows rose. "That bit of a storm? Nonsense. Why, you know perfectly well, Mr. Kennedy, that I posess an iron constitution. It would take more than a mere trifle like a hurricane to upset me. Now, where is the carriage?" "I regret to say, My Lady, that, due to the storm, the roads are quite impassable. I barely made in by horseback. Rooms have been reserved for you in town at The Royal Grace Inn until Lord Cunningham can send the coach in safety." "Oh, I beg you, not the Royal. It's such a dreary place. Can't we stay somewhere more exciting? Say, the Three Crowns or The Shipp? Yes, The Shipp I think. It's so wonderfully sordid." She observed Mr. Kennedy's face blanch. "Oh, no, My Lady. I couldn't possibly allow such a thing. Besides, the Three Crowns is full with those stranded by the storm, and I do NOT regret to say that The Shipp burned to the ground four days ago." "Oh? What a pity." As they talked, the two maids and servant had been lowered from the deck of the Sweet Temptation, along with all of Lady Cunningham's bagage. Once again, the three had taken up possition behind her. Her wide expanse of lace-covered bosom rose and fell with a sigh. "Come, Children, we are to follow Mr. Kennedy to the horridly boring Royal Grace Inn, where we will be staying unitl my dear husband can send the coach from Trade Winds." With an imperial wave of her chubby arm, she turned to the plantation manager. "Lead on, Mr. Kennedy, lead on."

LADY VIOLET CUNNINGHAM Wife of Lord Sir Albert Cunningham Mistress of a huge country estate, a fine London townhouse, and the sugar plantation, Trade Winds, on Jamaica. Her husband owns two merchant brigs - The Sweet Temptation, and the Sweet Violet. Age: It would be impertinent to ask. Description: 5' 2", and of a pleasingly robust figure. Her eyes are gray, and her hair, under the wig, is also gray. She is completely without guile and always speaks her mind - some people think to the point of rudeness. She likes parties, jewelry, and fine clothes, all which she has been accustomed to since birth. She has an iron constitution and can not abide sloth or wimpy behavior. Has never had a fit of the vapors in her life, and detests being bored. She and her husband have one of those rare arranged marriages that developed into an abiding love - although to outsiders this might be difficult to believe at times, as they both enjoy "passionate" discussions on any topic at any given time. She and her husband visit Port Royal every three or four years, to make sure Trade Winds is being run smoothly and to a profit.