Penelope Goes to Portsmouth Read Online Free Page B

herself.’
    ‘I do so agree,’ said Lord Augustus earnestly. Miss Trenton beamed on him, but her smile faded when he added, ‘Miss Wilkins is pretty enough as it is.’
    Hannah rose to her feet. ‘I am going out for a walk. I suggest you accompany me, Lord Augustus.’ She gave him a threatening glare.
    ‘Very well,’ he said meekly.
    ‘And you know just where we are going,’ said Hannah, as they walked together across the inn courtyard. There was a quick patter of footsteps behind them and Penelope caught up with them. She was wearing a sapphire-blue carriage dress with gold frogs, and a frivolous little military hat was balanced rakishly on her dusky curls.
    ‘I am coming with you,’ she said.
    ‘For a walk?’ asked Lord Augustus.
    ‘No, stoopid! To Lady Carsey.’
    ‘Ladies, ladies, may I point out we do not know where she lives.’
    ‘But I do,’ said Penelope triumphantly. ‘She lives at the Manor. The constable said so, and the Manor is only a short walk from here. I asked the servants. We turn to the left.’
    A blustery wind whipped at the ladies’ skirts. Penelope stifled a yawn. ‘I am so very tired.’ She smiled up at Lord Augustus. ‘Of course, as soon as we set our footman free, I can catch a few hours’ sleep.’
    ‘You are so confident,’ he said.
    A dazzling smile met his gaze. ‘Oh, but you see, I have quite decided you could do anything at all, my lord, once you put your mind to it.’
    ‘I am struck as dumb as the footman,’ remarked Lord Augustus.
    ‘What takes you to Portsmouth, my lord?’ asked Hannah.
    ‘I have an aged uncle in residence there. Quite rich. Bound to die soon. My last hope. Now what have I said?’ For Penelope’s face was puckered up in distress.
    ‘You are like a vulture, my lord, waiting for that old man to die. Fie, for shame!’
    A glint of anger showed in Lord Augustus’s blue eyes. Beautiful widgeons such as Penelope were supposed to make pretty, artless remarks. Then he smiled. ‘I feel I am reliving my grandfather’s experiences.’
    ‘How so? A story?’ Penelope clasped both hands over his arm and looked at him as hopefully as a child at bed-time.
    ‘A true story, Miss Wilkins. My father, when a very young man, was taken prisoner by the Americans in 1777 and put on board a prison ship above CharlestownFerry in Boston. The ship was foul and he and his fellow officers were suffering from fever, ague, and dysentery. They wrote to the Council of Boston and asked leave to go into the country on parole. This was granted and he was told his parole would be in the town of Pepperell, although he would not be allowed to travel over a mile outside the town. He procured quarters for himself and his servant in a house where he had to pay two silver dollars a week for board.
    ‘It was a free and easy existence. The family consisted of a middle-aged couple and their two spinster daughters. They had not the least understanding of what was due to a gentleman and treated my father’s servant in exactly the same way as they treated my father. My father said he quite enjoyed the evenings when a large fire would be made on the hearth. The room was filled with the sound of humming spinning-wheels and the laughter of the apprentice boys shucking corn. No candles were used, but the room was lighted by splinters of pine wood thrown on the fire. The days were boring, he said; nothing to do while the family were out at work. And when he asked the town council for washerwomen to do his laundry, they sent him a wash-tub and a bar of soap and told him to get on with it. You should live in America, Miss Wilkins.’
    There was a silence. Penelope frowned in thought. ‘You are mocking me,’ she said at last. ‘But if he was a prisoner, washing his own clothes was surely not such a hardship.’
    ‘My dear young lady, the joke is that they should expect him to do so.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Gentlemen do not wash their own clothes.’
    ‘How very strange to stand on ceremony