A | B | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14A | 14B | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30A | 30B | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41A | 41B | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45A
PART II
MAY, 1780
PALACE OF WESTMINSTER
LONDON, ENGLAND
AS ELLIOTT EXPECTED, Sandy greeted this news with a gleam in his eye. And neither he nor Niall believed one could choose not to remember an event and thus, simply not remember it—especially if one reacted badly to a participant of the event.
Elliott attempted to explain it, but he had seen and experienced many things he did not quite understand himself.
How could he explain that, whilst physically locked up in Newgate, he had lived across the ocean and five hundred miles inland? How could he explain that he had a life there, a wife and children, a home he had built, crops he had planted, and sheep he sheared?
Those images were as clear in his mind as if he had lived them, but he knew them for the reveries they were, the images he had deliberately constructed to save his sanity. But if he spoke of them …
He knew men whose similarly constructed images became real to them. He knew men who had taken their own lives because the reality outside their minds did not match the one inside. He knew men who could not remember anything but the memories they created for themselves.
Aye, he could believe Lucien did not remember one event as a child, no matter how significant, and still live a life of perfect normalcy as if it had never happened.
And Elliott’s constructed images were coming back to haunt him—at night when he was alone with his thoughts and in his sleep. His previously indistinct wife had a face now … and a long pink braid. She was not wearing a dress, but a plain shirt, breeches, and elaborately beaded moccasins.
There were others populating his dream-place now: A cook. A housekeeper. Field hands. Children everywhere, though not his. There were outbuildings and cabins and tents. There, from his vantage point high up on a river cliff, at dusk, he could see the small town halfway to the horizon when lantern light began to twinkle from shop and home windows.
One thousand acres burgeoning with life and contentment and, dare he say it, happiness.
Nay, he could reveal none of this to his family. Not even Camille would understand, she who had so methodically made a list of acceptable husbands and instructed Elliott to pick one.
“Cap’n,” Lynch said from the door of the library, where Elliott sat in his desk chair drinking whisky, his feet up, and allowed himself to indulge in his visions. “Her ladyship would like to know if tonight’s supper menu will be satisfactory.”
“Of course not.”
Lynch struggled not to smile. “Ben said your palate was spoilt.”
“Irreparably. Find me a new cook. Preferably one who knows something about North African cuisine.”
“TAVENDISH!”
“Good God!” Elliott thundered, then poured the rest of his whisky down his throat. He thunked the glass on his desk. “Is that my dam I hear? And she is speaking to me?” Lynch slipped away while his mother wheeled herself into the library. “Bellowing at me, rather. You must be in high dudgeon to address me as Tavendish.”
She ignored his taunts. “You will not dismiss the cook. She has been with us for decades.”
Elliott yawned and took his feet off his desk. “Fine. I won’t put her out, but she can do something else in the kitchen.”
“And when have you been interested in the running of a kitchen?” she asked with a studied calm. “That is a countess’s job.”
“I became interested when I could no longer abide the food coming out of my kitchen.”
“It is the finest money can buy. How did you become so particular at sea?”
He snorted and sat up, then began thumbing through the parchments on his desk. “When I spent five days eating food out of a galley whose cooks could, in fact, cook. I still wish I’d snatched them away from her. Her purser too, come to think of it. With more people in the house, Lynch could use the help.”
“Elliott,” she hissed, causing him to look up at her—and she was livid. “I have ways of doing things, and I don’t appreciate your coming home and setting them all asunder. Even your father knew better than to do that.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Mother,” he said benignly, “do you know what the commander of a fleet of ships does?”
Her nostrils flared at his condescension.
“I will tell you: He commands. I know you remember me as that broken man who returned home from Newgate for your tender care, but that was not then nor is it now who I am. I’m coming to realize you don’t know me at all.”
She gasped, outraged.
“I’m the earl,” he said, his tone hard. Not one of his officers or crewmen would mistake it for anything but the warning it was. “And I dare say I’ll be a sight better one than the one before me— But wait, what’s this? I already am, you say? Quite right.”
“You have only been here three years out of the last twenty, and only a few weeks actually being the earl!”
With that, Elliott arose and strolled to the window, hands locked behind his back. “Tell me,” he said amiably. “How did the Grange look when I left it to begin smuggling? How did it look when I returned two months past? Quite a difference, no?”
“Lucy and I did that!”
He turned to look at her, his eyebrow raised. “With what?”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“Even when I was not here, I was being the earl, providing for you, the estate, the tenants—providing a way to rebuild the earldom. I will not deny that you have done a glorious job with what I brought you, but now I am home and can take up my duties as any proper noble does.”
She huffed. “Proper nobles spend their time in the House and at their clubs. They go riding, hunting, and fencing.”
“And excellent ones see to their estates, which is the only part of this bloody title I ever wanted, but that has been done for me, hasn’t it? So here I am in London, sitting my seat, talking to the right people, speechifying against those damnable rogue children across the ocean. I have never, in my life, been so bloody bored. And this is my life now?”
“You should be looking for a countess.”
“What makes you think I am not?”
“The fact that you are brooding over your privateer.”
With a weary sigh, Elliott turned fully to the room and leaned over his desk to look at her, his fists bracing him. “Mother,” he said softly, “would you rather I go back to sea?”
She looked away, and he realized that she would—not because she didn’t love him, but because her command had never been challenged by anyone more strong-willed than she, especially not someone used to being in total authority.
And to her great shock and utter dismay, her second son, the quiet, mild-mannered, obedient, cheerful one, had become exactly what his father and brothers were not and never would have been—the usurper of her position.
“Elliott,” she said tightly.
“This is getting us nowhere. You and I are going to have to learn to work together, if not live together. If you find it unbearable here and wish to go back to the Grange, let me know, and I can roust a captain to take you there. But know this: I am the earl and head of this family. Unlike Father and Flip, I know how to command and will do so. And the first thing a commander should do when moving into a new position is get rid of everyone who served under the old commander.”
“I’m sure your privateer wouldn’t put up with this,” she hissed.
He smirked and shoved himself upright. “You’re right. My privateer would have thrown you out of the house immediately for daring to trespass and undermine her command. We sailors call that ‘mutiny.’ ’Tis frowned upon in certain circles.”
His mother was as furious as he had ever seen her. “You are an ungrateful son,” she spat.
Elliott looked at her soberly, aching to the bottom of his soul, wondering when his beloved mother and most staunch supporter had turned into his enemy. “If I were ungrateful,” he said quietly, “I would simply leave and never return.”
If you don’t want to wait 2 years to get to the end, you can buy it here.
Pirates!
It is only mutiny when unsuccessful; when successful it is simply a change in command.
You come at the king, you best not miss.
No Kings!
Except
For Elvis
relevant
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N43IF6rzb-M
I remember that classic movie Change in Command on the Bounty.
Waiting for the kids,
https://www.glibertarians.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/10/20251031_174248-scaled.jpg
lol Is anyone under 50 going to get that?
How about this one from ’66?
https://www.glibertarians.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/10/20251031_184035-scaled.jpg
I’m 48.
Got it.
So barely.
Bobbo, mt kids would appreciate your display. We went to the local trick or treat at the state park and it was about half empty this year and much too carry for them. Gross and gory. Too much for 3 and 7.
That’s awesome.
I’m slightly over 50 but I didn’t get the soup connection.
If it was from TV it’s understandable.
Every year I wait about 90 days for the return of the Great Pumpkin but with a short growing season sometimes the pumpkin is not always so great.
Im doing Andy Warhohl, Im famous for fifteen minutes
Thanks, I didn’t make the connection.
Good impression, now that I understand it.
We do themes every year, this one is the Great Pumpkin, Charlie brown
https://www.glibertarians.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/10/20251031_184035-1-scaled.jpg
https://www.glibertarians.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/10/20251031_194040-scaled.jpg
Thumbs up.
Big weekend at the pistoffnick compound!
I have my cow-orker (trained as an ag mechanic) coming over to look at my tractor, which won’t go into gear. I hope it is a simple fix. It worked perfectly fine last winter.
I am cooking for next weekend’s Minnesoda Deer Rifle Opener. Beef stroganoff, Mississippi pot roast, chili, chicken wild rice soup, lasagna.
My girlfriend’s car needs a new blower motor motor.
Im curious, how do Cow orkers work?
cash money rules all
Im down with cash,
Cheers!
Zoom, Dad, Zoom!
Guy that’s doing my field had a weird transmission glitch with his little John Deere. It wouldn’t go into high range and then about two weeks later it did and has worked fine since then.
Intriguing euphomistical euphamisming you did there.
I’m glad I’m not the only one who noticed.
My “all-region” Bluray player just choked on another American disc.
I am struggling to be stoic about it and find something else to do besides hurling the motherfucking piece of shit out the window like I want to do.
One of my favorite moments was throwing printer out of my window just because,
/AND IM NOT GONNA TAKE IT ANYMORE!!
Take the printer to a field and show it who’s the boss.
Her blower motor blower motor only blows on 2. Two is sufficent for most jobs. This is Minnoda, though, some times you need 5 or 6 on your blower motor.
Well, that blows.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yPPsSeDR_iI
Heywood?
I got a grand total of 3 trick or treaters tonight. This neighborhood is aging out.
Bummer.
We had ten, but I think trick-r-treating is kinda dying out anyway. Schools and churches all do party/festivals as alternatives, and a lot of people just don’t participate anymore, so the kids have fewer houses, which means they don’t have as much fun and would rather go to parties, so then fewer people give out candy, fewer kids, etc.
Also, at least around here, the baseball game was certainly a factor. Biggest group on the sidewalk I saw all evening were heading back home after the game ended.
The Friday part might have had something to do with it: more important parties.
Halloween doom spiral?
Doom loop.
As a kid I remember it taking a big hit in the 90s.
I think that’s when locally parents started taking their kids to the ‘better’ neighborhoods.
Mine didn’t and o noticed the last couple of years that I didn’t that people quit decorating and answering their doors in my neighborhood.
20+ years, all 0.
🥂
Hope ya had a good Halloween. Think I’m gonna leave work early to get back in time to research a skotch before Big Interview at 3:20pm. This would be a bigbig deal, and I’m especially pleased it’s within what I’m trying to do and that it pays *much* more than I was hoping for.
We shall find out. Rock on and rock out. Welcome to November. Kick its ass. With your own.
Asses are the perfect height for kicking.
Especially with your own.
*Knowing nod*
Huh?
Good morning all you ghouls and goblins.
👹💀🫶
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lom6I3EgynY
🎶🎶
Need to take down the Halloween decorations and resist my wife’s urge to put up ones for the next season.
I’ll probably repeat this in the Mourning Lynx, but
Local Stupid Party proposes emergency SNAP funding; Evil Party says, “We’re not giving you any positive publicity”
So you can distribute money; you just don’t want TEAM RED to have any say in it. (SLD that none of this should be federally funded, of course.)
suh’ fam
whats goody yo
TALL WEEKEND CANS!