looked down his nose disdainfully, and added, “The British do
not descend to disguising our ships. There is no particular merit—”
“Disguising?” Abigail echoed furiously. “Disguising what?”
“A seventy-four-gun ship as a forty-four,” Arthur sneered.
“The victories of the Constitution are scarcely a wonder, since the Java and the Guerrière —”
Abigail laughed, this time with genuine amusement and so
heartily that Arthur stopped speaking. “Oh,” she gasped, “oh, you poor, poor
creatures, needing to comfort yourselves with a silly lie like that. America
doesn’t have a seventy-four. They hardly have a navy, and I know because Mr. Gallatin, the Secretary of the Treasury, was deeply involved in the
plans to outfit what ships were available for this stupid war. I—”
“So you admit it is a stupid war,” Arthur said triumphantly.
Abigail’s violet eyes opened wide. “But of course it is a
stupid war,” she said sweetly. “Do you not think it the stupidest thing in the
world for a great, rich, powerful nation like England to insult, assault and
bully a poor, small, nearly powerless nation like America? There have been
times this past year when I was ashamed of being British.”
“Well,” Arthur growled, “you don’t sound British. You sound
like a damned rebel—or a traitor.”
“Do you mean that to be a loyal Briton, I must also become
an idiot or a liar, to be blind to the truth, and believe only what the
government chooses to tell me?” Abigail asked nastily. “I tell you I know the Constitution is a forty-four-gun ship. I have been aboard her. And I know the British navy
is filled with bullies who oppress the weak, because the ship I sailed on was
an unarmed merchantman that even had a passport from Admiral Warren. Still, it
was stopped, and two seamen were dragged off—”
“Because they were traitors who had abandoned their country
in her time of need,” Arthur exclaimed passionately, his voice nearing a shout.
“Nonsense!” Abigail exclaimed, equally passionately. “I
sailed with Captain Brown, whom I have known for years, and one of the
impressed seamen had been with him for five years or more—”
“And we have been at war for more than ten years,” Arthur
interrupted.
Abigail sniffed disdainfully. “That cannot be of
significance in this case, for Billy was in his teens and had sailed with
Captain Brown starting as a cabin boy—unless the British usually impress
five-year-olds?”
“He was still British,” Arthur roared furiously, “and he
should be proud to serve his country against that damned tyrant Bonaparte.”
“Ridiculous!” Abigail exclaimed, her voice rising to match
his. “He was a naturalized American citizen. According to your reasoning, the
only Americans that exist are the red Indians—”
A loud sound of throat clearing caused her to stop abruptly.
Both Abigail and Arthur turned sharply toward the door, where their eyes
encountered the astonished and rather frightened gaze of a young footman. There
was a brief silence. Then Arthur drew a deep breath and said in a deceptively
calm voice, “Lady Lydden would like coffee. I suppose Cook will know what is
suitable to be served with it.”
“Coffee, my lord?” the footman repeated, one surprise atop
another making him forget his training. “But—”
“Sir Arthur,” Abigail protested, refraining with difficulty
from laughing at the footman’s horror. She was not certain whether he was more
frightened at the idea of putting Sir Arthur’s request to the cook or returning
to Sir Arthur with the cook’s reply. “I should not think there is any coffee in
the house, nor that your cook is accustomed to preparing the drink. You did not
hear me, I fear. I said I had just finished breakfast and desired no
refreshment. But I have changed my mind, if you will accord me that female
privilege. I would like some tea.”
She spoke the final two sentences quickly, fearing that Sir
Arthur would
not descend to disguising our ships. There is no particular merit—”
“Disguising?” Abigail echoed furiously. “Disguising what?”
“A seventy-four-gun ship as a forty-four,” Arthur sneered.
“The victories of the Constitution are scarcely a wonder, since the Java and the Guerrière —”
Abigail laughed, this time with genuine amusement and so
heartily that Arthur stopped speaking. “Oh,” she gasped, “oh, you poor, poor
creatures, needing to comfort yourselves with a silly lie like that. America
doesn’t have a seventy-four. They hardly have a navy, and I know because Mr. Gallatin, the Secretary of the Treasury, was deeply involved in the
plans to outfit what ships were available for this stupid war. I—”
“So you admit it is a stupid war,” Arthur said triumphantly.
Abigail’s violet eyes opened wide. “But of course it is a
stupid war,” she said sweetly. “Do you not think it the stupidest thing in the
world for a great, rich, powerful nation like England to insult, assault and
bully a poor, small, nearly powerless nation like America? There have been
times this past year when I was ashamed of being British.”
“Well,” Arthur growled, “you don’t sound British. You sound
like a damned rebel—or a traitor.”
“Do you mean that to be a loyal Briton, I must also become
an idiot or a liar, to be blind to the truth, and believe only what the
government chooses to tell me?” Abigail asked nastily. “I tell you I know the Constitution is a forty-four-gun ship. I have been aboard her. And I know the British navy
is filled with bullies who oppress the weak, because the ship I sailed on was
an unarmed merchantman that even had a passport from Admiral Warren. Still, it
was stopped, and two seamen were dragged off—”
“Because they were traitors who had abandoned their country
in her time of need,” Arthur exclaimed passionately, his voice nearing a shout.
“Nonsense!” Abigail exclaimed, equally passionately. “I
sailed with Captain Brown, whom I have known for years, and one of the
impressed seamen had been with him for five years or more—”
“And we have been at war for more than ten years,” Arthur
interrupted.
Abigail sniffed disdainfully. “That cannot be of
significance in this case, for Billy was in his teens and had sailed with
Captain Brown starting as a cabin boy—unless the British usually impress
five-year-olds?”
“He was still British,” Arthur roared furiously, “and he
should be proud to serve his country against that damned tyrant Bonaparte.”
“Ridiculous!” Abigail exclaimed, her voice rising to match
his. “He was a naturalized American citizen. According to your reasoning, the
only Americans that exist are the red Indians—”
A loud sound of throat clearing caused her to stop abruptly.
Both Abigail and Arthur turned sharply toward the door, where their eyes
encountered the astonished and rather frightened gaze of a young footman. There
was a brief silence. Then Arthur drew a deep breath and said in a deceptively
calm voice, “Lady Lydden would like coffee. I suppose Cook will know what is
suitable to be served with it.”
“Coffee, my lord?” the footman repeated, one surprise atop
another making him forget his training. “But—”
“Sir Arthur,” Abigail protested, refraining with difficulty
from laughing at the footman’s horror. She was not certain whether he was more
frightened at the idea of putting Sir Arthur’s request to the cook or returning
to Sir Arthur with the cook’s reply. “I should not think there is any coffee in
the house, nor that your cook is accustomed to preparing the drink. You did not
hear me, I fear. I said I had just finished breakfast and desired no
refreshment. But I have changed my mind, if you will accord me that female
privilege. I would like some tea.”
She spoke the final two sentences quickly, fearing that Sir
Arthur would
Similar Books
