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PART II
APRIL, 1780
RATHBONE HOUSE
LONDON, ENGLAND
CELIA AWOKE WITH A START and a gasp, blinking into the darkness unremitted by any light whatsoever. It reminded her of the fortnight she had spent shackled in the hold of the Carnivale whilst Skirrow attempted to navigate. Heβd left them hopelessly wandering the eastern parts of the Mediterranean, easy prey for any Ottoman who held a grudge for him. Then, she could expect to hear either Solomon or Bridge speak to her low, soothingly, to calm her racing heart and grieving soul.
Now she lay next to her mother in her chamber in the home of Rear-Admiral Lord Rathbone, who was, as he had been for the last nearly twenty years, not in residence. She felt her motherβs hand on her arm, squeezing lightly.
What had awakened them?
A moan.
Celia huffed. Aunt Harrie. βGodβs teeth. Is it possible that woman is more insatiable than I?β Celia muttered.
βShe cannot sleep, Celia. You know that and you know why.β
Indeed. Aunt Harriet was notorious amongst the ton for having a string of lovers in and out of her bed to fill the long hours of darkness. Now, because of the bitterness in her motherβs voice, Celia realized that Mary had likely also sought solace by losing herself in a manβs arms.
I wanted a woman in whom to seek solace, but β¦ I was desperate enough to take what I could get.
Anyone would do.
Mary continued. βI dare say you have never lain with a man for any reason other than your own gratification, so you would not understand. Keep your thoughts on the matter to yourself.β
Celia did understand, but had done such a thing only once as it brought her no relief and thus was a worthless endeavor. She had sought relief from her heartbreak another way and had the scars to remind her.
βIβm sorry, Mama,β she said low, thoroughly chastened. βIβll not speak of it again.β
ββTis time to begin your task anyway. I was about to awaken you, as I cannot sleep, either.β
βAye, youβre right,β Celia said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She felt around on the side table for the flint, then lit the candle and checked her chronometer. One of the morning. It would give her an extra hour to work. The servants would be abed until half past four. Aunt Harriet would be occupied until a bit before dawn, at which time her current lover would depart. Then she would appear two hours later in her own library, elegantly attired and coifed, ostensibly to write mounds of correspondence, invitations, menus, and party lists, only to fall asleep at her desk or in a comfortable chair until noon.
Celia pulled on black: black stockings, breeches, shirt, moccasins, and mobcap, into which she stuffed her hair. She blew out the candle, sneaked out the bedchamber door, and down the steps, avoiding every squeaky step along the way. Soon she was at the double doors to the marquessβs library, which was locked. Fortunately, George (the brazen little hoyden) had been able to charm a footman until she had opportunity to steal the key, whereupon Celia had sent her straightaway to make a copy and return before anyone noticed its absence. That had taken a precious sennight to accomplish.
Tonight was only the fifth night in the four weeks since she had arrived in London that she would be spending with the task Maarten had set herβthree years ago.
Are you certain it is in his home?
Ja. Nowhere else it could be. Iβve had people through his accounts, his bank box, his foreign offices, his ship, and his estate in Northumberland. Youβre the only person I know and trust who can get into his townhouse without suspicion.
How Celia was supposed to find the documents he wanted, she did not know, but once again she stood in Rear-Admiral Lord Rathboneβs library in the small hours dressed entirely in black. As she had done the previous nights, she draped the doors in black cloth and caulked the gap along the threshold. Then she silently drew the drapes against the night. With a snick and a flare, she lit the candles, then consulted her map.
Because of Celiaβs obligations to Congress, she could only afford to spend a few weeks during the Season on Maartenβs task. During the spring and summer, Washingtonβs army could forage for food and had no need to keep warm, and other privateers could provide lead, gunpowder, and rum. It was in the fall and winter Celia was needed to provide the massive quantities of woven wool cloth and boots she could only procure in England, and no amount of extra food would go to waste anyroad. Thus, Maarten had presented her with his request, knowing that if she had not taken enough prizes with the required matΓ©riel, she would spend weeks in England filling her holds.
During her first Season, she had made a map of Rathbone House and observed the habits of the household. Once she had determined which persons were in what locations at which times of day, she had been able to search most of the house, leaving Rathboneβs library nearly untouched before she was obliged to take her leave.
During her second Season, she had had no doubt she could search the whole of his library. But she had sorely underestimated the scope of the task and had only managed half of it.
This was Celiaβs third Season as Miss Imbecile, and if she did not find Maartenβs documents this year, she would be forced to admit defeat, for Bancroft had become increasingly bold in his quest to claim custody of his long-lost daughter. It was a complication none of them could have foreseen and Celia doubted the marchionessβs solicitors could hold him off indefinitely, particularly now that Bancroft had hired the solicitor and barrister famed for getting Georginaβs former fiancΓ© acquitted of high treason.
Maarten, it makes no sense. Rathbone is neither an idiot nor dishonorable. He wouldnβt allow himself to be used by the Crown that way.
He would if he had enough at stake, say, his daughterβs safe return. I would turn on my overlords in a trice if it meant I would get my daughter back.
But Sarah has not returned, so either that wasnβt something he had at stake, he didnβt follow orders, or the other party didnβt honor its bargain.
The documents exist. I simply havenβt been able to find them. Please, Jack. I wouldnβt ask if I werenβt desperate.
She had not argued with him further. Maarten Gjaltema was an influential figure in the Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie as investor, merchant, and captain. He had connections in places Celia could not fathom, and if he thought it was in Rathboneβs home, she had to believe it was.
In a roundabout way, Gjaltema had made Celiaβs fortune for her. At least half of Talaatβs wealth had grown from stock in the VOC, and her mother had bid Celiaβs moneylenders to continue those investments. Mary should know: She had learned the trade at Maartenβs right hand and found her true talent in it. She had appointed herself Celiaβs clerk the moment she stepped aboard the Thunderstorm and applied herself just as diligently to maintaining Celiaβs accounts as she had the VOCβs.
But there was a price to be paid for the Gjaltemasβ kindness to Mary, and Celia was paying it. This was yet another sin she could lay at Nathan Bancroftβs feet.
Taking the candelabra across the room, she saw that tonightβs section was laden with music. She sighed. She would have to take care not to get lost in them so much that she did not finish the section before her two-hour candles sputtered out.
The first book was a treatise on musical notation, although an elementary one she had had at university and might still be gathering dust in Rafaelβs rooms in Coimbra. Rathbone was not a musician so far as she knew and the only fortepiano in the house was sadly out of tune, so his possession of such a reference was odd, indeed.
Her candles had marked the passage of a quarter hour spent thumbing through more classroom texts when she found the letter, written in a childish scrawl.
Deer Papa, Thank yu fr taking me to yur ship. It was lovly. Yr lovn dotter, Sara.
Written in Rathboneβs meticulous hand, with which Celia was now very familiar, was βSarah Elizabeth Munro, age 5, 22 May 1751. I despair she will ever learn not to drop her H.β
Celia blinked. It was the first thing she had found that would make her believe Rathbone had stashed documents elsewhere in the leaves of these books. She raised her eyes all the way up the twenty-foot ceiling and heaved a resigned sigh.
It was a large library.
She looked back at the wry note and could not help but smile. She wondered how many others were scattered throughout the library, secreted in diverse books, books Rathbone would probably never reference again.
Certainly, if one asked Aunt Harriet about her daughter, she might respond, βWho?β
Ah, well. Celia was not one to cast stones at the manner in which people coped with their losses, to the good or ill.
Celia was about to close the book, having carefully replaced the note, when the front door crashed open. Only Celiaβs years of battle training saved that book from being dropped.
βFIFE!β roared Cousin Edward. βWHARβS EβRYONE?β
Foxed. Completely foxed.
βYes, my lord. Come, allow me to assist.β
βYa blooβywell better assist, man! Thaβs whetcher paid to do!β
It was to her great relief when the staircase creaked in all the usual places, and she heard the sounds of a beleaguered valet dragging his soused master up it.
Celia had never met the marquess anywhere but at sea, either in battle or pursuit: He had always been at sea during her sojourns at Rathbone House, and this year, after Celia had blown his ship to heaven, it would require an act of God for him to arrive during this visit.
He may never return. It was widely known he took whatever opportunity he could to search for Sarah and would not rest until he found her. By Aunt Harrietβs account, he had been in residence for a total of five years in the last twenty.
Celia might not know Rathbone personally, but she knew enough of him to know that were he aware of Edwardβs whoring and gambling, he would drag the boy out to sea by his collar and set him to manning the pumps.
She pursed her lips. What a man expected when he left his son to fend for himself for years on end, she did not know.
Edwardβs apartments were directly above the library, across the hall from the rooms Celia and her mother had been given. When she heard the steps overhead, she returned to her task. She only had an hour and a half left and she had only searched a quarter of this section. When she replaced the current book and pulled the next, she found a secret compartment as big as one of the drawers in Rathboneβs deskβfull of documents. She pulled the inner box out of its hiding place and sighed.
It was going to be a long twelve weeks.
If you donβt want to wait 2 years to get to the end, you can buy it here.
Pirates!
Moj, all quiet on your front, Mom and sisters shook hands and back to being a family.?
My kids are about your age, daughter and her kids’ relationship(s) is(are) strained but I think time will help a lot. Oldest granddaughter has nothing to do with her siblings or Mom.
At least 2 out of 3 talk to me. I’ve reach that point in life where I really don’t care, they have to decide their own lives, I can’t and won’t interfere, they have to be grown ups or not.
I have trouble understanding that though. I had two older brothers and it was always good times, laughs, even as we got older. They are both gone and it leaves an empty hole in my life.
I got into a fist fight with my brother not too long ago as a grown man. Made up pretty quickly.
My family was always distant. I have three older brothers I don’t even talk to and not for any particular reason. Β―\_(γ)_/Β―
That’s where I am at. They think I’m evil for leaving their mother, but they don’t know the back story. I don’t feel it’s my responsibility to tell them the gory details (as much as I want to tell them the gory details).
/figure it out, kids
/keeping the channels of communication open
I see the talking points were sent out. Trump is a Mad King and they got their legitimacy from that judge who felt the need to include that in the initial ruling about federalizing NatG troops.
And a big thank you to Mojeaux for sharing her writings
No Kings!
/stunning and brave
//not leaving the house tomorrow
It’s funnier because it comes from Team-Be-Ruled. The ones who cried out for authoritarianism during covid.
They unironically call Newsome daddy.
It’s the meme of more government girl getting pepper sprayed writ large.
No commissars either!
Except Hollywood, they are acceptable royalty /Americans
Clint Eastwood is dead.
He recorded his first First at the age of 7. Long live Clint Eastwood.
*This is according to Facederp. I’m not responsible if it turns out to be not true or disinformation.
It would be all over.
Not true.
Doubt.
But “Gran Torino” is a damn fine movie.
Isn’t that a 2022 rumor? Firsting in the past is no way to live your life bro.
You’re dead. Your avatar is a fictional character who “simply. is. not. there.”
Not according to Wikipedia’s obituaries page.
We are going to purposefully shut down our controller tower tomorrow night. I can’t wait to be in the news.
??
Can I no longer play Contra?
Yes, we are removing the cheats
It’s because of DOGE cuts, isn’t it?
Nah this was plain ole shit tech neglecting years of maintenance and current tech is sharp and fixing it.
You ever First with the devil in the pale moonlight?
“On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pqwZLe-hNMU
I’d do anything to First…But I won’t…do…that…
I love meat.
You took the words right out of my mouth.
This is a bit awkward, but Nick…
Brochettaward needs an enema.
Its me and Toxteth, now get off my lawn,
/what?
π€·π»ββοΈ
Haven’t read “hoyden” in ages. Moj, you must be good at Scrabble.
Actually, I am not at all. My husband can trounce me in a heartbeat.
*Yawn*
I just completed one week of work for the first time in months.
And I am drunk.
/need sleep
ALRIGHT a Punch and Judy show, read a rather enchanting novel by Ben Aaronovitch. You tell me what I’m meant to make of it. I don’t.
I think this might be my favorite novel of the week. I’ll let you know tomorrow.
Surely Moj knows how weird our synchonious subopportunity there is
I’m sorry there’s this switcherooo
IT’s Rivers of London by Ben Aaronovitch if I don’t remember tomorrow. It’s an enchanting novel. Much better than I can recommend Obviously.
It’s a novel. I liked it. I’m not sure what else to give it. I rather like the Rebus novels, overall. Upstart Neal Gaiman twerp.
Mornin’ to ye all, rise ‘n shine!
(Don’t, really. Yikes. Enjoy as much sleep as possible. Hrm.)
Mornin’, earthly oddity.
*Curtsy*
Can Akira or any other Japanese-speakers translate this cartoon? Twitter translate works on the post but not anything in attachments.
(Govt as abusive boyfriend)
https://x.com/moukon_genius/status/1933451461230538887?t=PUBepaxlCn9dzTZ1QBMYZA&s=19
Can’t translate, ‘bating.
Seriously, I don’t speak Japanese.
Yo ho ho, me hearties!
π΄ββ οΈπ£ββοΈβοΈ
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fZQZZf_R434
πΆπΆ
Happy Birthday Two Scoops!
πππ₯³
Happy birthday to me, too.
Unfortunately, it’s raining here *again*. [sigh]
HBD!
ππ°
+1
…and many more, teD’S
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lfy18ynhWNU
Mornin’, reprobates. Here comes the rain, just in time for the weekend.
https://youtu.be/TzFnYcIqj6I
Perfect!
πππ
PATZIE!!!!!! π
I saw that you were here yesterday, but I was getting ready to leave for work (and running late, as usual,) so I didn’t have time to greet you properly. Good morning! How are you and yours?
Oh – and also good morning to Sean, Ted’S. (and Happy Birthday!), EfE, TO’G, and good afternoon(?) to Fishie!
πββοΈ
Been a while π
Bumming around New England last week. First chess tournament in 35 years last weekend, at the lovely Sheraton Bradley on CT. Great view of the runways. Played in the expert section, expecting to lose all 5 games, instead got two wins, two losses, and a draw. Might have to change my handle…
Then off to Boston area for Mrs. Patzer’s business conference. Walked around Newton while she sat through presentations. Nice dinner, expense account FTW. Youngest Patzer got a nice raise, his older brother got a promotion.
NJ gubernatorial primary is done, no more annoying ads. Unfortunately there is still NYC mayoral race. Andrew Cuomo is going to save NY? Really?
Congrats on exceeding your expectations! βAnd congrats on both kids’ professional success! π€
Now, as for conferences, what you need to do is get yourself on the board of a credit union. There are “conferences” for their directors that just happen to take place at sunny resorts and on cruise ships! πππβ±π’
GT – my sister works for a credit union. I’ll have to ask her about that.
In regards to one of your comments at the end of RJ’s Thursday night movie post, I wanted to mention this movie.
Morning!
Sorry to hear about UnCiv’s optics issues.
The first one I tried (SIG) failed because SIG lies about their propriety footprint.
The second one (C-More, factory plate) worked perfectly, but it came with multiple mounting screws.
Squishy ground for the match today.
Yeah, I wanted to celebrate my birthday on top of one of the mountains, but that ain’t happening.
Very sorry to hear that. π
Maybe rent a movie theater so you can have the place all to yourself? ππΏπ₯€π¦π½π
Happy Birthday one way or another! π
Happy birthday, I guess. Celebrate a belated birthday on the mountain when the skies clear?
Oh, I’ve got stories about that, but they’ll appear in a later post here.