"Hideous
machine," Helen repeated. "He called my beautiful ship a 'hideous
machine'!"
"I
apologise," Fairfax said, "But you also accused me of speculating. I
cannot allow my own sister to accuse me of speculation."
"All right,
I'm sorry as well." Helen paused at the door, her hand on the knob.
"You're just so infuriating all of the time with your highhanded
ways."
"I don't
know what you mean." Fairfax looked at her wide-eyed.
"That's why
it's so irritating!"
"What the
devil does any of this matter?" Their father glowered at the two of them
from the depths of his chair. "I don't need to hear this kind of wrangling
from my children. I'd like a little peace in my own home!"
"Things
will be quieter in France, Papa."
"France!"
Fairfax said. "You're going, too?"
"Against my
will," his father muttered. "We can't have your sister running around
the land of frogs with strange Italian men on her own."
"You're
secretly pleased I think, Papa." Helen laughed.
"I think
perhaps Fairfax ought to go with you instead," her father said.
"What!"
The two siblings spoke in unison with equal levels of horror. Their expressions
gave no doubt about the unsuitability of this idea to both of them. It was only
when they noticed their father's barely suppressed mirth that they breathed a
sigh of relief.
"You're a
very devil, Papa," Helen said, shaking her head in disbelief.
"I wouldn't
be at liberty to go anyway," Fairfax added, his voice sounding somewhat
nervous yet. He rifled through the papers in his portfolio. "This land
matter alone will require a great deal of attention in the next few
weeks."
"Not from
me, I hope," his father said, apparently somewhat daunted by the thought.
While he liked to think of himself as a cagey manager of his estates, he
actually much preferred to leave things in the capable hands of his son. Most
of his conversations consisted of nodding in agreement.
It was a
suitable charade as far as he was concerned.
"Well, if I
must go, I suppose I shall have to reconcile myself to my fate," he
grumbled.
Helen was
delighted that they had moved past the impossibility of the trip to planning
its details. "We shall have to find a suitable place to stay in Dover and
in Calais, where we can keep the ship nearby."
"I'm sure
we can arrange something suitable," her mother said, "though perhaps
not as quickly as you might like."
"Can I
bring Cerberus along as well?"
"No, Papa,
there won't be room." Helen gathered up her drawings and plans, ready to
head to her room for some thoughtful planning.
"We really
need to discuss this Leeds plan—" Fairfax began, holding out a very
daunting piece of paper toward his father.
His father
ignored the paper. "Are you bringing Tuppence?"
"Of course!"
"Well, then
I want to bring my dog." Her father folded his arms decidedly. The animal
in question raised his head, as if aware of the debate. "It's only
fair."
"Papa,"
Helen said, swallowing her irritation, "Tuppence is a bird and can fly
beside the ship. Cerberus is an enormous dog and will take up too much room as
well as being an unruly beast with no discipline."
"Unruly!
He's a well-trained and magnificent beast."
"Papa, he
doesn't even sit on command."
"He's
sitting now."
As if he understood—and
Helen reflected, it might be entirely possible that he did—Cerberus immediately
stood up, wagging his tail gently as he looked at his master.
"Good
dog." He patted his pet affectionately. "Well, what the devil am I
going to do while you're pottering around with mountebanks and machinery?"
"You could
look at some possible investments," Fairfax broke in.
"Hang me if
I'll be working on my holiday!"
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