“Lafitte!” Lizzie said with alarm and disbelief. “The horrible pirate? Oh, I beg your pardon.” How awkward it was to suddenly find themselves rescued by a pirate from what had appeared to perfectly respectable men. As fixed as her ideas had been about pirates and highway men, Lizzie could not keep herself from regarding Black Ethel with a mixture of puzzlement and admiration. She would be loathe to admit it even to her dear cousin, but Lizzie was quite fascinated and intrigued by the free life the pirate queen lived, not only freed from the bonds of tutelary but also from the restrictions of family and town. She wore what she liked, spoke as she wished and was entirely careless of housekeeping details.
It was quite dizzying to consider.
Black Ethel continued to suck on her cigar thoughtfully. “He was certainly notorious, c’est vrai. All those who faced him in the corridor that day eagerly gave way after one glare from his glittering eyes.”
Alice quailed visibly. “Were you not frightened?” she asked with awe.
Black Ethel waved her hand dismissively. “He was the one person who could take me away from the all that drudgery into a life of freedom and adventure. I knew that the fusty luggs who ran the infirmière had long been his paramour, so I decided to make the most of his brief visit to Paris.”
“Paramour?” said Alice, her brow furrowing.
“Paramour!” said Lizzie, her cheeks blushing pink.
“Indeed,” said Ethel, oblivious to the reactions of the two young women as she warmed to the telling of her story. “By listening to the gossip of the staff, I knew that it was the habit of M. Lafitte to visit the kitchen first and obtain a little sustenance from the gallimaufry that served as the primary meal of the infirmière—except of course for those too ill or injured to eat.”
“Was there a war on?” Alice asked hesitantly, afraid that she might be asked to name the particular war and aware that she could only remember the battles that had interesting names like Marathon and Waterloo but had no memory to recall the other wars categorical.
“There is always a war on,” Lizzie said with some bitterness, all too aware how the current situation in the Mediterranean affected her own romantic interests.
Black Ethel nodded sagely. “Quel dommage, eh? It was fortunate for Lafitte, as it was far easier to recruit men to the piratical life once they had seen action in the armed forces. They knew how to use pistols and they were accustomed to the sight of blood. Quite often, too, they were somewhat less idealistic and more eager for results.
“I left my linens behind and sneaked into the kitchen. The usual Gorgon who ran that sweaty room had departed for fear of Lafitte, who sat on a chair shoveling some food into a bowl with a mug of ale at his side. He was everything the tales had told: surely six feet tall or more, with an ugly scar down the left side of his face, blocked only by a jet black patch where his eye ought to have been. I quailed at the thought of his roughness, but I was determined to join the pirate life and lay waste to all that my blackguard relatives held dear.
“I gathered my courage and at last said, ‘M. Lafitte, I wish to join your crew!’ He looked at me through his single eye, set down the bowl of gallimaufry and then burst into loud guffaws of laughter.
“This only made me more determined. Quick as a fox, I snatched a knife from the cutting board and held it to his throat. ‘M. Lafitte,’ I said triumphantly, ‘I suggest you consider my offer!’”
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
7.0
“Fifteen—and on your own!” Lizzie could not help uttering those words with a tone of disapproval, although whether she truly disparaged Black Ethel’s wayward independence or simply envied her boldness, it was hard to tell. She was beginning to form a distinct sense of awe before the fearlessness of this raven-haired buccaneer.
“Indeed!” chuckled the pirate queen as she lit another cigar and turned down the wick of the lamp. It was becoming quite late indeed, but neither of the two young women seemed the least bit tired as Black Ethel related her exciting adventures. “Although I was of course rather tall for my age. It is all in the bones,” she said, turning to Alice. “Cheese is good for the bones!”
Alice winced although she tried not to show it. She had always been somewhat delicate around the subject of cheese. Her parents had tried all the types to find a flavour she would enjoy, but she had tasted them all and continued to demur. It was always the same: Wensleydale, cheddar, Stilton, Derbyshire, brie, gouda, Dachsteiner, Herve, Havarti, Lappi, Beaufort, Camembert, Desmond, Kilcummin, Shropshire Blue or Double Gloucester, Alice had nibbled a bit from one side or the other and yet had seen no perceptible change in her feelings. It is quite possible that she would always remain recalcitrant when it came to fermented curd.
The pirate queen returned to her narrative with no knowledge of the curdly tumult in Alice’s brain. “I knew that I would never find my dreams in the town of my birth, so I began the long trek to Paris, sure that something there would lead to the wonderful life I knew awaited me.”
“How could you be so certain?” Lizzie asked, thinking pensively of her own doubts and fears.
Black Ethel laughed. “Paris was the city of lights! I had heard about it since childhood. I was not foolish enough to think the streets were paved with gold, though I had hopes nearly as unrealistic. For the first month I was there, I swept the floors in a café so dirty that the very rats would not eat off the floor. In the second month, I kneaded dough in a boulangerie where cockroaches routinely substituted for sultanas.”
“Oh my,” Alice said, turning a rather pale shade of green.
“Oh, that was not the worst!” Black Ethel gave a sinister laugh. “In the third month, I was hired to beat linens in a laundry that supplied the local infirmière, although they were less than scrupulous about the care they gave the linens. How many time the cruel madame barked at me not to waste the bleach that might have saved one more of the soldiers from horrible infection, I cannot have kept count.”
“How horrid!” Lizzie said, aghast in her gentle heart.
“Indeed,” the buccaneer agreed. “I knew that it was not to be my life’s work. But one day I saw a glimmer of hope. A man walked into the infirmière while I was delivering linens. He was grim-faced and bearded with huge guns at his side and all the hallways filled with whispers of his name.
“It was…the pirate Lafitte!”
“Indeed!” chuckled the pirate queen as she lit another cigar and turned down the wick of the lamp. It was becoming quite late indeed, but neither of the two young women seemed the least bit tired as Black Ethel related her exciting adventures. “Although I was of course rather tall for my age. It is all in the bones,” she said, turning to Alice. “Cheese is good for the bones!”
Alice winced although she tried not to show it. She had always been somewhat delicate around the subject of cheese. Her parents had tried all the types to find a flavour she would enjoy, but she had tasted them all and continued to demur. It was always the same: Wensleydale, cheddar, Stilton, Derbyshire, brie, gouda, Dachsteiner, Herve, Havarti, Lappi, Beaufort, Camembert, Desmond, Kilcummin, Shropshire Blue or Double Gloucester, Alice had nibbled a bit from one side or the other and yet had seen no perceptible change in her feelings. It is quite possible that she would always remain recalcitrant when it came to fermented curd.
The pirate queen returned to her narrative with no knowledge of the curdly tumult in Alice’s brain. “I knew that I would never find my dreams in the town of my birth, so I began the long trek to Paris, sure that something there would lead to the wonderful life I knew awaited me.”
“How could you be so certain?” Lizzie asked, thinking pensively of her own doubts and fears.
Black Ethel laughed. “Paris was the city of lights! I had heard about it since childhood. I was not foolish enough to think the streets were paved with gold, though I had hopes nearly as unrealistic. For the first month I was there, I swept the floors in a café so dirty that the very rats would not eat off the floor. In the second month, I kneaded dough in a boulangerie where cockroaches routinely substituted for sultanas.”
“Oh my,” Alice said, turning a rather pale shade of green.
“Oh, that was not the worst!” Black Ethel gave a sinister laugh. “In the third month, I was hired to beat linens in a laundry that supplied the local infirmière, although they were less than scrupulous about the care they gave the linens. How many time the cruel madame barked at me not to waste the bleach that might have saved one more of the soldiers from horrible infection, I cannot have kept count.”
“How horrid!” Lizzie said, aghast in her gentle heart.
“Indeed,” the buccaneer agreed. “I knew that it was not to be my life’s work. But one day I saw a glimmer of hope. A man walked into the infirmière while I was delivering linens. He was grim-faced and bearded with huge guns at his side and all the hallways filled with whispers of his name.
“It was…the pirate Lafitte!”
Sunday, November 11, 2007
6.9
“One day,” Black Ethel continued as Lizzie and Alice drew closer with the excitement of her tale, “when we were all in the main hall where we received our paltry meals and did our endless tatting, I made a decision. No more would I tat for this horrible woman who leeched the vital souls of innocent children, no more would I work for anyone but me as the beneficiary.”
“How brave you must have been!” Lizzie said with undisguised admiration. The pirate queen was like a novel’s heroine come to life. How pale the stories of Miss Radcliffe seemed in comparison, whereas once she devoured them by candlelight when the sun had long since gone to sleep. Perhaps when she has finished relating her adventures, Lizzie mused, I can trust my great secret to her bosom. Surely she can be a stalwart confidant! The young woman turned to the tale once more with an even greater excitement.
“I could do nothing alone. That was the lynchpin, as we say. I needed a few confederates to join me. This would be difficult,” the pirate queen said confidentially to the pair raptly listening. “I was not known as a kindly sort, I must admit. I was quick to temper, eager to use my fists and the envy of all because of my beautiful long hair the color of a raven’s wing.” Black Ethel swept her long locks over one shoulder, combing her fingers through the ringlets to emphasize her point.
Lizzie and Alice both cooed appreciatively, although the latter might be excused for thinking her own golden locks were more attractive. She associated this shade of hair with the chimera of Kit Barrington, now sadly fading from memory with only the light anchor of black hair and blue eyes to tie him to her memory and the vague thought that he had been so charming, though truth to tell, Alice was unable to recall a single witty remark or clever observation. She would have to quiz Lizzie later and see if her memory were better (it generally was).
“However, as I spread the word about my desire for rebellion, I found there were many who desired an opportunity to rise up against the despot, Mme. de Pautonnier, and to break free of that horrid place. They only lacked a leader. I decided to embrace the necessity and draw them together for the attack. Our plans were laid in the dark of the night. Whispers floated from bed to bed and room to room. At last on a night with the full moon’s light, we struck.
“Our attack began in the kitchen. Without the sour-faced staff who usually tortured us, the place was cavernous and foul-smelling. We filled our shirts or kerchiefs with what food we could find, slinging it over our backs for the night. Tripping past the sleeping Francis, Madame’s lazy cousin with his short sight and his cruel stick, we filed into the great hall and gathered our tatting work into a pile, throwing onto it all the shuttles, a few wooden buckets and some small kindling from the woodstove. I drizzled some olive oil over the combustibles and then I drew out the box of matches I had liberated from the kitchen, right under the nose of the chef.”
“Oh, no!” Lizzie could not help herself but gasp.
“Oh yes,” Black Ethel said with a wicked smile. “I set fire to the pile there and then, and laughed aloud as the flames shot into the air.”
“Goodness,” said Alice, gobsmacked with pure admiration for the destructive young girl.
“Goodness had very little to do with it,” the pirate queen said with a wave of her hand. “I admit my motives were good, but what happened next turned the night into a mêlée.”
“Oh dear!”
“Yes, the other children equally enraptured with the flames, grabbed their uncomfortable stools and chairs where they had spent hour after miserable hour tatting, and thrust them onto the pyre as well. Within moments the fire was blazing out of the control. Madame de Pautonnier and her staff were roused from their own comfortable beds and desperately tried to extinguish the flames but it was far, far too late.
“In the helter skelter of the noise and panic, as the fire brigade arrived tardily and began to try to contain the fire, most of us children escaped from our overlords, nipping out into the streets and running into dark corners to await the morning light and the freedom it brought us. I breathed in the night air, and though it was choked with burning tat, it smelled like freedom. I was fifteen and the world lay before me like a lazy opponent whom I had every expectation of besting at the first match.”
“How brave you must have been!” Lizzie said with undisguised admiration. The pirate queen was like a novel’s heroine come to life. How pale the stories of Miss Radcliffe seemed in comparison, whereas once she devoured them by candlelight when the sun had long since gone to sleep. Perhaps when she has finished relating her adventures, Lizzie mused, I can trust my great secret to her bosom. Surely she can be a stalwart confidant! The young woman turned to the tale once more with an even greater excitement.
“I could do nothing alone. That was the lynchpin, as we say. I needed a few confederates to join me. This would be difficult,” the pirate queen said confidentially to the pair raptly listening. “I was not known as a kindly sort, I must admit. I was quick to temper, eager to use my fists and the envy of all because of my beautiful long hair the color of a raven’s wing.” Black Ethel swept her long locks over one shoulder, combing her fingers through the ringlets to emphasize her point.
Lizzie and Alice both cooed appreciatively, although the latter might be excused for thinking her own golden locks were more attractive. She associated this shade of hair with the chimera of Kit Barrington, now sadly fading from memory with only the light anchor of black hair and blue eyes to tie him to her memory and the vague thought that he had been so charming, though truth to tell, Alice was unable to recall a single witty remark or clever observation. She would have to quiz Lizzie later and see if her memory were better (it generally was).
“However, as I spread the word about my desire for rebellion, I found there were many who desired an opportunity to rise up against the despot, Mme. de Pautonnier, and to break free of that horrid place. They only lacked a leader. I decided to embrace the necessity and draw them together for the attack. Our plans were laid in the dark of the night. Whispers floated from bed to bed and room to room. At last on a night with the full moon’s light, we struck.
“Our attack began in the kitchen. Without the sour-faced staff who usually tortured us, the place was cavernous and foul-smelling. We filled our shirts or kerchiefs with what food we could find, slinging it over our backs for the night. Tripping past the sleeping Francis, Madame’s lazy cousin with his short sight and his cruel stick, we filed into the great hall and gathered our tatting work into a pile, throwing onto it all the shuttles, a few wooden buckets and some small kindling from the woodstove. I drizzled some olive oil over the combustibles and then I drew out the box of matches I had liberated from the kitchen, right under the nose of the chef.”
“Oh, no!” Lizzie could not help herself but gasp.
“Oh yes,” Black Ethel said with a wicked smile. “I set fire to the pile there and then, and laughed aloud as the flames shot into the air.”
“Goodness,” said Alice, gobsmacked with pure admiration for the destructive young girl.
“Goodness had very little to do with it,” the pirate queen said with a wave of her hand. “I admit my motives were good, but what happened next turned the night into a mêlée.”
“Oh dear!”
“Yes, the other children equally enraptured with the flames, grabbed their uncomfortable stools and chairs where they had spent hour after miserable hour tatting, and thrust them onto the pyre as well. Within moments the fire was blazing out of the control. Madame de Pautonnier and her staff were roused from their own comfortable beds and desperately tried to extinguish the flames but it was far, far too late.
“In the helter skelter of the noise and panic, as the fire brigade arrived tardily and began to try to contain the fire, most of us children escaped from our overlords, nipping out into the streets and running into dark corners to await the morning light and the freedom it brought us. I breathed in the night air, and though it was choked with burning tat, it smelled like freedom. I was fifteen and the world lay before me like a lazy opponent whom I had every expectation of besting at the first match.”
Sunday, November 04, 2007
6.8
“My thoughts were less confident when I was ushered brutally to the doorsteps of the grim orphanage,” Black Ethel continued. “While I had been eager to leave my unkind relatives and their uneasy scorn, I was somewhat abashed when the tall black doors loomed before me.”
“I have never seen an orphanage,” Alice said, her voice betraying a curiosity she was little able to hide. “It sounds perfectly monstrous, though.”
“I shudder to consider your fate,” Lizzie added, thanking her lucky stars once more for the sometimes tiresome but always cushy home of her aunt and uncle.
“It is to be shuddered at,” Black Ethel agreed, tossing her tricorne onto her desk and tousling her long black hair. Lizzie noted that the pirate queen looked much less intimidating with her hair down and her face relaxed from the scowl she often wore on deck. Nevertheless, Lizzie suspected that it would not be wise to remember the ruthlessness of which she could be capable.
“I was admitted to the grey walls of the institution and immediately sized up the situation. Most of the children appeared to have been beaten into a sullen submission by the head of the orphanage, Madame de Pautonnier. While the orphanage may have been founded by the holy man who had been a friend to children everywhere and an artiste of bon repute, this leader seemed to have come from the opposing camp.
“Only infernal realms could have been responsible for this dictator in a redingote. I can see her dull grey eyes before me in my worst dreams and hear that piercingly high-pitched voice. Her cruelty was legendary, her conscience non-existent. Pautonnier’s only concern was making the most of the stipend the city offered her for caring for the cast off children without a sou or a relative. Thus she clothed us as meagerly as possible and fed us little more than gruel and vegetable soup. A lump of meat was a rarity that might turn up in the bowl of an unfortunate only at odd intervals, and often resulting in an impromptu battle.”
“How awful,” Alice said, appearing to be genuinely shaken by this picture of the rough life. Cosseted in her stately home, she had had no idea of the lives of others beyond her class. Although a very ignorant girl, her heart responded with lively empathy and she vowed, “I shall make sure we have no such horrors in our village! When I return,” she added someone more somberly, dabbing at her eyes with a mixture of sympathy and self-pity.
“That would be a good thing,” Black Ethel agreed. “We were poorly fed, beaten and used as cheap labour. Hour after hour we girls were forced to tat.”
“To what?” asked Lizzie. Alice looked on with alarm, fearful what the answer might be.
Black Ethel looked at the two of them with surprise. “Tatting? Frivolité? The horrible lace with which one makes collars and doilies?”
Lizzie could feel a sense of indignation building. “Children are labouring to make lace? It’s an outrage!”
“And we have so many,” Alice said wonderingly, before blushing and begging the pirate queen to continue. “Why were children particularly used for this?”
The buccaneer raised her rough but petite hands for their inspection. “Our fingers were tiny and nimble. We could move the shuttles to and fro with alacrity. The hooks would not catch on our short sleeved garments and our young eyes could see in the faint light allowed by the grimy windows of the workroom.
“But one day, I decided I had had enough!”
“I have never seen an orphanage,” Alice said, her voice betraying a curiosity she was little able to hide. “It sounds perfectly monstrous, though.”
“I shudder to consider your fate,” Lizzie added, thanking her lucky stars once more for the sometimes tiresome but always cushy home of her aunt and uncle.
“It is to be shuddered at,” Black Ethel agreed, tossing her tricorne onto her desk and tousling her long black hair. Lizzie noted that the pirate queen looked much less intimidating with her hair down and her face relaxed from the scowl she often wore on deck. Nevertheless, Lizzie suspected that it would not be wise to remember the ruthlessness of which she could be capable.
“I was admitted to the grey walls of the institution and immediately sized up the situation. Most of the children appeared to have been beaten into a sullen submission by the head of the orphanage, Madame de Pautonnier. While the orphanage may have been founded by the holy man who had been a friend to children everywhere and an artiste of bon repute, this leader seemed to have come from the opposing camp.
“Only infernal realms could have been responsible for this dictator in a redingote. I can see her dull grey eyes before me in my worst dreams and hear that piercingly high-pitched voice. Her cruelty was legendary, her conscience non-existent. Pautonnier’s only concern was making the most of the stipend the city offered her for caring for the cast off children without a sou or a relative. Thus she clothed us as meagerly as possible and fed us little more than gruel and vegetable soup. A lump of meat was a rarity that might turn up in the bowl of an unfortunate only at odd intervals, and often resulting in an impromptu battle.”
“How awful,” Alice said, appearing to be genuinely shaken by this picture of the rough life. Cosseted in her stately home, she had had no idea of the lives of others beyond her class. Although a very ignorant girl, her heart responded with lively empathy and she vowed, “I shall make sure we have no such horrors in our village! When I return,” she added someone more somberly, dabbing at her eyes with a mixture of sympathy and self-pity.
“That would be a good thing,” Black Ethel agreed. “We were poorly fed, beaten and used as cheap labour. Hour after hour we girls were forced to tat.”
“To what?” asked Lizzie. Alice looked on with alarm, fearful what the answer might be.
Black Ethel looked at the two of them with surprise. “Tatting? Frivolité? The horrible lace with which one makes collars and doilies?”
Lizzie could feel a sense of indignation building. “Children are labouring to make lace? It’s an outrage!”
“And we have so many,” Alice said wonderingly, before blushing and begging the pirate queen to continue. “Why were children particularly used for this?”
The buccaneer raised her rough but petite hands for their inspection. “Our fingers were tiny and nimble. We could move the shuttles to and fro with alacrity. The hooks would not catch on our short sleeved garments and our young eyes could see in the faint light allowed by the grimy windows of the workroom.
“But one day, I decided I had had enough!”
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Apologies
Your humble narrator was waylaid by a strange caravan of gaily dressed creatures on the way east from her dwelling. They insisted on games and feasting, so she was delayed on her journey home. The travelers have allowed her to return, but are whisking her away again today. Thus the latest installment will be delayed until the coming sabbath. She meekly begs your indulgence in this matter.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
6.7
“Oh my,” Alice said with horror, forgetting for a moment that the people in peril were Black Ethel’s mortal enemies. “The poor pony!”
“Never fear,” the pirate queen said, waving away the young woman’s fears with her still-smouldering cigar. “The pony himself was unhurt. My enemies, however, did not fare so well.”
Her face seemed filled with a grim satisfaction as she recalled the events. “My compatriots let fly with the best of their weapons and soon the glistening white cart had become spattered with the foulest mud, its gilt edgings dimmed. The snooty pair who had dismissed us so peremptorily now gasped with shock as they were met with volley after volley of the viscous glop gleaned from the depths of the muddied waters.
“My nemesis, Miss Surfeis Perkineiss, cried aloud in alarm as the handfuls of mud splashed against her white frock, every pleat pressed laboriously by me the night before -- yet another punishment for my imagined wrongs. I hated her, I hated that dress and I hated the way she was coddled and cosseted, assured of a cushy life without the least bit of effort -- all from an accident of birth. My parents were the kindest people on earth and I had been robbed of their comforts.”
Alice suddenly began to cry, so overwrought by the story as to imagine herself much wronged by the death of Lord Mangrove, although the spirit departed had not (at last encounter) yet managed to depart completely and that she had already some difficulty in recalling any event of kindness or thoughtfulness demonstrated by her late father and so, lapsed into a puzzled silence as she tried to imagine him doing anything other than muttering behind an endless succession of newspapers or fuming red-faced at her mother or the servants.
Lizzie was, on the other hand, deriving a great deal of vicarious satisfaction from the narrative, events she could never have brought herself to take part in (to be entirely truthful) but which she was delighted someone of Black Ethel’s mettle had had no scruples about. “Go on,” she encouraged the buccaneer, who had paused to raise an eyebrow at Alice’s tenderhearted weeping (which had since dwindled into sniffles and a furrowed brow). “Was Algernon greatly displeased?”
The pirate queen laughed gleefully. “He was quite beside himself! I could not tell if the indignity or the mud was worst for him, but his face was red as a pomegranate and he let loose with most ungentlemanly words of the blackest vituperation. My comrades and I only laughed in delight, some of the rougher fellows sought to pull him from the bench and toss the young dandy headlong into the floodwaters.
“They were still struggling with the recalcitrant lad, while Miss Surfeis was weeping bitter tears, when the authorities at last arrived. My compatriots, hardened criminals all, made rude gestures, called even ruder names, and quickly eluded the gendarmes, but I was too overcome with triumph to bother.
“I was dragged to the home of my keepers and true to form, the Perkineisses turned me out without a kind word after a tearful accusation from Surfeis. I no longer cared. I was glad to be sent to Les Orphelines de Brad, once I had rescued the last remnant of my parents from the wall of my tiny room. I looked with scorn at my ungrateful relatives and spit on the ground at their feet. A door was closing behind me, but I was sure things could be no worse that at that hated home.
“Oh, la la! What a child I was!”
“Never fear,” the pirate queen said, waving away the young woman’s fears with her still-smouldering cigar. “The pony himself was unhurt. My enemies, however, did not fare so well.”
Her face seemed filled with a grim satisfaction as she recalled the events. “My compatriots let fly with the best of their weapons and soon the glistening white cart had become spattered with the foulest mud, its gilt edgings dimmed. The snooty pair who had dismissed us so peremptorily now gasped with shock as they were met with volley after volley of the viscous glop gleaned from the depths of the muddied waters.
“My nemesis, Miss Surfeis Perkineiss, cried aloud in alarm as the handfuls of mud splashed against her white frock, every pleat pressed laboriously by me the night before -- yet another punishment for my imagined wrongs. I hated her, I hated that dress and I hated the way she was coddled and cosseted, assured of a cushy life without the least bit of effort -- all from an accident of birth. My parents were the kindest people on earth and I had been robbed of their comforts.”
Alice suddenly began to cry, so overwrought by the story as to imagine herself much wronged by the death of Lord Mangrove, although the spirit departed had not (at last encounter) yet managed to depart completely and that she had already some difficulty in recalling any event of kindness or thoughtfulness demonstrated by her late father and so, lapsed into a puzzled silence as she tried to imagine him doing anything other than muttering behind an endless succession of newspapers or fuming red-faced at her mother or the servants.
Lizzie was, on the other hand, deriving a great deal of vicarious satisfaction from the narrative, events she could never have brought herself to take part in (to be entirely truthful) but which she was delighted someone of Black Ethel’s mettle had had no scruples about. “Go on,” she encouraged the buccaneer, who had paused to raise an eyebrow at Alice’s tenderhearted weeping (which had since dwindled into sniffles and a furrowed brow). “Was Algernon greatly displeased?”
The pirate queen laughed gleefully. “He was quite beside himself! I could not tell if the indignity or the mud was worst for him, but his face was red as a pomegranate and he let loose with most ungentlemanly words of the blackest vituperation. My comrades and I only laughed in delight, some of the rougher fellows sought to pull him from the bench and toss the young dandy headlong into the floodwaters.
“They were still struggling with the recalcitrant lad, while Miss Surfeis was weeping bitter tears, when the authorities at last arrived. My compatriots, hardened criminals all, made rude gestures, called even ruder names, and quickly eluded the gendarmes, but I was too overcome with triumph to bother.
“I was dragged to the home of my keepers and true to form, the Perkineisses turned me out without a kind word after a tearful accusation from Surfeis. I no longer cared. I was glad to be sent to Les Orphelines de Brad, once I had rescued the last remnant of my parents from the wall of my tiny room. I looked with scorn at my ungrateful relatives and spit on the ground at their feet. A door was closing behind me, but I was sure things could be no worse that at that hated home.
“Oh, la la! What a child I was!”
Sunday, October 14, 2007
6.6
Black Ethel took a sip of rum before she continued with her riveting tale. Lizzie thought to herself how exciting the story would be when she revised it for her secret pen pal with the proper flourishes that the pirate queen seemed to find unnecessary. A good Gothic should have more atmosphere, Lizzie mused, listening to the rain begin to fall outside the cabin window, aware once more of the occasional shouts of the pirate men as they went about their myriad duties required to keep the ship running. No doubt about it, Lizzie assured herself, this tale could be embellished grandly.
“It was late afternoon,” Ethel began again, “and we knew that Algernon and Miss Surfeis Perkineiss would be returning any time in their fine frocks and with their basket of fresh strawberries. They were part of my bribe to the other children. I assured them we would plunder the basket and enjoy the spoils of our attack.”
“Did you look forward to the strawberries with cream,” Alice could not keep herself from wondering aloud even as she wistfully sighed for the lack of such delicacies on board the Bonny Read. “Or even with a little bit of sponge cake…”
“What did I care for strawberries?” Black Ethel waved away such details, intent upon her tale. “My only hunger was for revenge against mine enemy, my bête noire! Miss Surfeis was going to pay for her many unkindnesses and if her little toad-eating friend had to share the cost, so much the better!”
“Oh horrors!” Alice said with considerable alarm, seeking in vain for her mourning handkerchief to cover her swiftly watering mouth. “I can hardly abide toads at all, let alone consider eating them! It is too much to contemplate.”
“Where you come by this ridiculous toad prejudice, I can hardly understand,” Lizzie said with a cross tone that suggested this to be yet the latest round in an on-going battle of wills. “Toads are essential for the smooth-running garden, they provide a simple solution to common pest insects and are clean and friendly -- ”
“I was merely using the phrase ‘toad-eating’ to indicated that M. Algernon was a sycophantic flatterer,” Black Ethel broke in, somewhat dismayed at the suddenly fractious turn of the conversation and eager to return to the traumatic events of her childhood. “We despised him for it. And when I say we, I mean my little friends of the town who were immune to the charms of Miss Surfeis because they could not get past her evil words and her snooty attitude, and thus had come to hate her nearly as much as I.
“We were watching the road closely. A few carts had come by and the mail from Paris, but all of a sudden we saw the bright little pony cart that held those two and we prepared ourselves for the assault. I knew that however much I ended up in the basket, as you English say, it would be worth it to see that superior smirk wiped from the face of my mortal enemy.
“Faster and faster, the little pony trotted along. I looked to my comrades and they each had a look of grim satisfaction as the shiny white cart drew nearer with its large basket of strawberries and its two well-dressed passengers. With a quick whistle, I signaled to my men, two of whom pulled taut the laundry line across the track, stopping the gentle pony in his traces, and causing young Algernon to drawl idly, “What can be the meaning of this, you mangy dogs?”
“’I will show you the meaning, mon petit losengeor’ I said to him, hoping he would catch the irony in my insult, and ordered my men to begin firing…”
“It was late afternoon,” Ethel began again, “and we knew that Algernon and Miss Surfeis Perkineiss would be returning any time in their fine frocks and with their basket of fresh strawberries. They were part of my bribe to the other children. I assured them we would plunder the basket and enjoy the spoils of our attack.”
“Did you look forward to the strawberries with cream,” Alice could not keep herself from wondering aloud even as she wistfully sighed for the lack of such delicacies on board the Bonny Read. “Or even with a little bit of sponge cake…”
“What did I care for strawberries?” Black Ethel waved away such details, intent upon her tale. “My only hunger was for revenge against mine enemy, my bête noire! Miss Surfeis was going to pay for her many unkindnesses and if her little toad-eating friend had to share the cost, so much the better!”
“Oh horrors!” Alice said with considerable alarm, seeking in vain for her mourning handkerchief to cover her swiftly watering mouth. “I can hardly abide toads at all, let alone consider eating them! It is too much to contemplate.”
“Where you come by this ridiculous toad prejudice, I can hardly understand,” Lizzie said with a cross tone that suggested this to be yet the latest round in an on-going battle of wills. “Toads are essential for the smooth-running garden, they provide a simple solution to common pest insects and are clean and friendly -- ”
“I was merely using the phrase ‘toad-eating’ to indicated that M. Algernon was a sycophantic flatterer,” Black Ethel broke in, somewhat dismayed at the suddenly fractious turn of the conversation and eager to return to the traumatic events of her childhood. “We despised him for it. And when I say we, I mean my little friends of the town who were immune to the charms of Miss Surfeis because they could not get past her evil words and her snooty attitude, and thus had come to hate her nearly as much as I.
“We were watching the road closely. A few carts had come by and the mail from Paris, but all of a sudden we saw the bright little pony cart that held those two and we prepared ourselves for the assault. I knew that however much I ended up in the basket, as you English say, it would be worth it to see that superior smirk wiped from the face of my mortal enemy.
“Faster and faster, the little pony trotted along. I looked to my comrades and they each had a look of grim satisfaction as the shiny white cart drew nearer with its large basket of strawberries and its two well-dressed passengers. With a quick whistle, I signaled to my men, two of whom pulled taut the laundry line across the track, stopping the gentle pony in his traces, and causing young Algernon to drawl idly, “What can be the meaning of this, you mangy dogs?”
“’I will show you the meaning, mon petit losengeor’ I said to him, hoping he would catch the irony in my insult, and ordered my men to begin firing…”
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