Title: Jeu d'Esprit
Summary: A display of wit, long treasured, is passed on from father to son, and a rash wanton by the name of Aubrey is endeared to a doctor.
Note: I reckon this is the cutest fic I've written as of yet (in my opinion). I couldn't bear it anymore, and just HAD to write something involving George, Charlotte, and Fanny (some of my favourite characters). Their infamous 'topgallant screeches' and consistent cursing at such a young age has always struck me as amusing. The soup tureen! +Cackles+ This also contains a stupid bit on the weevils gag – hence, the title is 'Jeu d'Esprit'. Obviously. 'Though I much druther the entire ordeal involving the 'debellare superbos' bit. Heh...
Dedication: For Thig, because... Aw, because I said so! Anyways, love, sometimes a tranquillised Bonden just isn't enough.
+++
'Cor, that's poz, sir!'
The captain took off his number two scraper, as Killick, with his supernatural senses where it was concerned, would doubtless realise it's displacement else. Jack smiled genially at his son, who watched with awe. 'I'm glad you should think so, George,' he said, and the lad nodded fervently in reply. He only just noticed that his son still clasped the silver spoon in his hand, the very same that Jack had said would doubtless be used upon his first rating aboard a ship.
The serene tranquillity of such a moment between father and son, so scarce, was broken by raucous shouts in the background. 'Bear a hand, there!' Charlotte's voice shouted, very distinctly. 'Come ON, you ruddy swab.'
'Which I'm coming as fast as I might go!' Fanny screeched in reply, and Jack winced at their crosstree shrieks. 'I _say_, Charlotte – ain't genteel t'go about shoutin' "swab", like kiss my hand! Killick'll fetch a great row if you do, not to mention Mama.'
'Yeah, and so'll "great fucking whoreson of a bitch",' Charlotte replied with a haughty devil may care shrug, 'but I don't 'specially give a bawd's hide –'
The imperious glare of Preserved Killick silenced the foul-mouthed twins instantly, even from so far a distance down the path from the cottage. Charlotte gasped and clamped a hand over her mouth, stopped abruptly, and Fanny slammed into her from behind, her run broken by her sister's halted person. This shattered the elder's stunned state, and she burst into a new waterfall of profanities as she stumbled in a flurry of limbs.
Jack glanced out the window, where the setting sun left and dimmed the relatively quiet, peaceful world that was his home by land, where his two daughters were squabbling fiercely, and where a small, sombre figure was bent over and hobbling into the forest. His moment of contemplation, however, was broken as his son squeaked alarm, and Killick ran in with fury, all the more raged due to his momentary distraction with the discipline of his captain's children. The steward snatched away the scraper and fondled it momentarily before rushing to put it to rights again.
The father looked at his son, who was perfectly nonplussed by this brief interruption upon what would have – could have – been a perfectly normal father to son moment. His blue eyes, not at all the light blue of his father, 'though more inclined to the grey, like his mother's, were round with admiration and a fondness unexplained despite. Jack smiled softly at his boy, who scampered away at his grandmother's shrieking call. This wonderful bliss, this instant of what almost resembled that of a normal family – how long could it last? ''Til the sea calls again,' the captain murmured to himself.
+++
'I, for one, am perfectly content to remain here,' commented Stephen to himself as he left the main of the cottage's circumference, left it for the wondrous fields, streams, and wood that his friend possessed. 'Perfectly content,' he repeated, not without satisfaction.
The news of Diana's departure with Jagiello had not been without it's pains, and even now it remained, a dull ache; the bottle indeed remained within reach every night since he had heard. Stephen had not yet actually reached for it, but the pure weakness of dependence upon it's sitting there, on his nightstand, was a terrible smack of pride. However, it clearly did not show, as Jack had not made any sign of concern, and the captain was fairly easy to read.
The doctor opted to take the same path as when he had came to Ashgrove a year or so ago – he gladly passed the plantation and mines, there being nothing quite so interesting as to distract him. However, the wood held a pleasure that could scarcely be described – the bright sun that shone through the boughs above and broke into shards of green light, the hares, deer, and such birds of the country type. Stephen beheld the common thrushes, blackcaps, and larks with just as much pleasure as he would have the condor, if it were not simply for the wondrous surrounding.
As he walked along in the brush and litter of the forest, he realised that this same place had been the point of a good deal of contemplation upon Diana herself. 'I had only just discovered the situation,' he contemplated inwardly, with all the apathy he could muster. Seeming as 'though on cue, a cuckoo burst into it's traditional yelps of 'Cuckoo! Cuckoo!' Stephen did not move in response, and nary a thought concerning it passed through his mind, but rather he continued deliberately on the path.
Too deliberately, he later found. Twigs that were then ignored tore haplessly at his shins, and there were slits in his stockings, and even lines of red. Maturin frowned at the stains of blood against the white – Killick would indeed run mad, should he find this new mischief. 'However, it was unavoidable,' Stephen reasoned. It did not seem so wholly long before he heard the trickling of a stream, and some weak, warning growls that sounded much more like mewls. Stephen gazed across the rivulet and onto the opposite bank, where a fox cub stood guard at the holt's entrance. At first, he thought it was a meagre attempt to drive _himself_ away, but a lump of black and white fur, moving towards the holt, proved otherwise.
His old friend, the badger, had returned to his home, only to find some blasted bunch of upstart cubs. The elderly beast scowled and, if he could have, swore viciously at the young fox. This was enough to send him scampering away, and it's whimpers summoned the others away from the badger's rightful home.
Stephen, a mere bystander, decided it best to leave the badger, staunch and true, at that, and turned about and strode back towards Ashgrove.
+++
Two identical faces peered over the wood panelling that hid the inscription and gazed through well-scrubbed glass; the silver gleamed, as it always did when Killick was home, and the inscription was read out with obvious pride. That brilliant soup tureen, the crowning glory of a gift from the West India Company – 'Personal to my da hi'self,' Fanny would murmur gravely. Charlotte had done so often, and had even brought that foul Helen Needham ('Fucking arse-whore of a swab,' she had muttered rebelliously), and it had indeed brought her prating about her General to an end for a little while.
'Debellare superbos,' the elder echoed after Fanny had read out the caption once more. 'God damn 'is eyes, what's that mean?'
'Whatever it do,' Fanny replied wisely, ''tis poz, so 'tis.' The twins nodded solemnly in agreement. 'Quite the thing, ain't it?' They both turned to look down at George, who stood behind him, apparently expecting some whinge of consent.
'Aye, quite the thing,' their little brother piped, and Charlotte grinned.
'What's it mean, d'you s'pose?' she asked her sister, who shrugged. '"De bell are superb"?' Charlotte offered, 'though it was to no avail. 'Da didn't know, remember?'
'I dunno,' said Fanny with a shrug. 'Beyond me – s'more of O'Mara's thing, ain't it?' Instantly, the indistinguishable visages darkened, their pert noses wrinkling exactly alike, the blue-brown of their eyes dimmed. 'Maybe we ought to ask her.'
'Sucks to O'Mara,' Charlotte declared. 'I'm asking that doctor cove.'
'That doctor cove' was treated like something of a god – quite religious in their actions towards him, unless they were in a terrible mood, and nary a word was exchanged, if it could be prevented. Dr Maturin was awed from afar, and both parties seemed perfectly content to allow it to remain so.
'You can't ask him!' George cried. How could she even think to do such a thing? 'You can't, Lottie –'
'O'course I can!' Charlotte hissed sharply in reply. 'An' don't call me that! 'Tisn't right! I hate it,' she added in a low mutter. George, easily suppressed, nodded meekly and withdrew. Fanny, however, was not so effortlessly pacified.
'You CAN'T,' her twin insisted. 'If Killick caught word of us'n's causing a bother to the doctor –'
'Well, then he WON'T catch word of us'n's causing a bother to the doctor,' Charlotte asserted with a smirk. 'You can – er, cause a distraction!'
'A distraction?' Fanny repeated dubiously.
Charlotte nodded vigorously. 'We can plan it all out, see? It'll be like – like a ruse de guerre!' She eyed George for agreement, who shuffled his feet nervously.
'I don't know...' he mumbled quietly, and Charlotte scowled.
'Listen – _I'm_ the eldest, and _I'm_ the biggest, y'hearken? I'm the strongest, fastest, and smartest, too.' None of these things were necessarily true, save perhaps the first, and that was only by the margin of five minutes or so. 'I can probably fetch you both a sound beating elsewise, 'less you do as I say.'
Needless to say, no one argued with that. There was just such an air of decision in her voice that neither wished to debate any further.
'Good,' said Charlotte with a smile. ''Tis settled, then.'
Nothing could have been more meticulously planned than that single query – never a political coup or ambush by sea had more at stake than this: after all, Killick's fury could prove fatal, as Fanny never hesitated to repeat.
+++
'Good eve, sir,' said George with a bow towards his father. 'You called, sir?'
'Yes, I did,' Jack replied as he motioned for his son to sit down. The dubbed 'library' was not wholly a library at all, 'though this was scarcely minded. 'Now, as I recall, you quite expect to board a man-of-war soon, correct? Rated.'
George nodded enthusiastically, his face lit up amazingly, and, with his cheeks in a pleased red blaze, he broke into a wide, expectant grin. 'Aye, sir!' he cried, scarcely able to contain himself.
'Yes,' said Jack quietly, his face falling at what was his duty. 'Now, George, you know your mother and your grandmother both feel very strongly about your going into the service, and –' George's face fell instantly at these words, anticipation shattered in those few words. Jack frowned. 'I am sorry, George,' he said for good measure, 'though it did little to help.
Jack, quite crestfallen, allowed his eye to wander to the table, where the chart of the 'Diane' and Cape Bowhead lay, alongside a cup of tea and a couple of biscuits. Soft tack, he noted with displeasure, with a pair of weevils squirming their way through and onto the plate. An idea struck him, and Jack smiled. 'George,' he said. 'Do you see those two weevils, just there?'
'Weevils, sir?' George repeated in the same gloomy tone that matched his expression perfectly. 'Why, yes, sir.'
'Which would you pick, George?' His son peered at him with all the air and concern as one for a crazed loved one. 'Now, now, George, really – if you HAD to pick a weevil out of the two, which would it be?'
George took one last worried look at his father before leaning over to study the weevils. 'Why, they're exactly the same. There's no point in it, sir – no difference at all.'
'Pick,' Jack pressed. 'Really, George – just choose.'
George paused and said, 'Well, the one of the left side, sir. It's bigger than the other, see –' Jack's features split into a wide grin, and George looked at his father curiously. 'I say,' said George, 'I say, do tell me what you're on about, sir.'
'George,' said Jack, after he had restrained his chuckles. 'You must remember this for the service, mind – always, ALWAYS, in the Navy – always choose the lesser of two weevils.' The captain burst out into a chortling fit again, and George simply sat there, looking perfectly puzzled. It took a few moments for it to dawn upon him, and George allotted a weak smile, which grew within a minute's time to one just as wide as his father's.
+++
'Which he's right there, Lottie.'
A sharp cuff about the neck was the sole response, from Charlotte, of course, looking positively wrathful at being called 'Lottie' again. George held back a cry, but pointed towards the observatory. 'Right there – he's a-looking just into the glass thing,' he whispered.
Stephen was indeed within the observatory, eyeing something or another; this was observed with some confusion by the children, as it was broad daylight out. However, they ignored this, and Charlotte proceeded boldly towards the astronomical observatory. The other two withdrew to their appropriate stations, on the sharp lookout for Killick, who would probably cuff them a right one if he ever heard of their disturbing the doctor in any way.
'Fine day, ain't it, sir?'
The bold voice caused the surgeon an intense start from the glass – it was one seldom heard, unless in a civil whisper or a loud scream from afar, amidst the fields and wood with her sister, who shouted in an identical tone. Stephen at first looked down, believing them to be of relatively diminutive height, but had to adjust it to only just a little lower than his own – 'Of course,' he reminded inwardly. 'At their age, and according to mine own slight height...'
'Yes, I suppose so,' Stephen replied, mentally wondering why this loud, uncouth creature was speaking to him at all. As a general rule, he disliked children, and even this offspring of his best friend could prove tiring.
Charlotte gulped. All this fellow, this friend of her father's, would have to do is murmur a slight note to Killick, or to their mother, or to Grandmum, and there would be a fierce flogging on. Dray would be insufferable, Killick would give his traditional leer and box on the ear, and Sophia would conceivably take out the rush broom and smack her from Ashgrove to Portsmouth.
'Well, sah,' Charlotte continued to the doctor's chagrin, 'I was a- wondering – your being a learned type, see, I thought you'd be the person to ask.' He blinked, and said nothing. Somewhat discouraged, Charlotte soldiered on, lest she back down. She breathed heavily, with all the air of one attempting to handle a very important, delicate matter. 'Sir, what's that "debellare superbos" bit on the soup tureen mean, sir?'
Stephen raised a quizzical brow at this strange, impertinent slip of a girl, who ignored the risk of a beating simply to know what 'debellare superbos' meant from the Latin. She was staring at him intently, apparently not prepared to leave until she had gained the information.
A loud call like a cuckoo broke the silence from around the closer region of the cottage. Stephen looked at Charlotte suggestively, and she attempted a look of innocence while searching for a hiding place. A moment later, George's high piping voice declared that a local boy was pilfering the silver, and Killick's voice gave a piercing shriek. Charlotte withdrew from her former place from behind the eyeglass's stand, and resumed her resolute stance.
'Audacious little wretch,' Maturin commented silently, and Charlotte gave a sudden shout.
'I say – it's one of the pigeon hawks again!' she cried, apparently pleased.
'A pigeon hawk?' Stephen repeated, immediately interested.
'Aye, sir!' Charlotte said agreeably. 'I haven't seen one of those since I took a hike up to the cliffs, where they were a-nesting –'
'There are pigeon hawk nests near here?' cried Stephen, positively aghast that he hadn't been informed of this before. 'Esmerillion? The merlin hawk?'
'The very same,' said Charlotte, watching the blue-brown fowl streak across the sky with glee. 'Little Corporal, we calls them. Or, when O'Mara's about, "Le Petit Caporal".' She grinned. 'Why's that, sir?' she asked.
'I haven't seen Falco temerarius since Castile,' Stephen breathed, more to himself than to Charlotte, a smile crossing his features as the bird flew away towards the cliffs.
'Well, I can show you where they nest, sir,' Charlotte offered.
Stephen turned about sharply, looking at her with new respect. 'Can you?' he asked.
Charlotte smiled, a little mischievously. 'If you can tell me what that "debellare" stuff means, sir, I'd be honoured.'
Stephen paused, and realised just what she meant. He smiled a little, with a slight nod. Charlotte motioned for him to follow. 'We'll see.'
Summary: A display of wit, long treasured, is passed on from father to son, and a rash wanton by the name of Aubrey is endeared to a doctor.
Note: I reckon this is the cutest fic I've written as of yet (in my opinion). I couldn't bear it anymore, and just HAD to write something involving George, Charlotte, and Fanny (some of my favourite characters). Their infamous 'topgallant screeches' and consistent cursing at such a young age has always struck me as amusing. The soup tureen! +Cackles+ This also contains a stupid bit on the weevils gag – hence, the title is 'Jeu d'Esprit'. Obviously. 'Though I much druther the entire ordeal involving the 'debellare superbos' bit. Heh...
Dedication: For Thig, because... Aw, because I said so! Anyways, love, sometimes a tranquillised Bonden just isn't enough.
+++
'Cor, that's poz, sir!'
The captain took off his number two scraper, as Killick, with his supernatural senses where it was concerned, would doubtless realise it's displacement else. Jack smiled genially at his son, who watched with awe. 'I'm glad you should think so, George,' he said, and the lad nodded fervently in reply. He only just noticed that his son still clasped the silver spoon in his hand, the very same that Jack had said would doubtless be used upon his first rating aboard a ship.
The serene tranquillity of such a moment between father and son, so scarce, was broken by raucous shouts in the background. 'Bear a hand, there!' Charlotte's voice shouted, very distinctly. 'Come ON, you ruddy swab.'
'Which I'm coming as fast as I might go!' Fanny screeched in reply, and Jack winced at their crosstree shrieks. 'I _say_, Charlotte – ain't genteel t'go about shoutin' "swab", like kiss my hand! Killick'll fetch a great row if you do, not to mention Mama.'
'Yeah, and so'll "great fucking whoreson of a bitch",' Charlotte replied with a haughty devil may care shrug, 'but I don't 'specially give a bawd's hide –'
The imperious glare of Preserved Killick silenced the foul-mouthed twins instantly, even from so far a distance down the path from the cottage. Charlotte gasped and clamped a hand over her mouth, stopped abruptly, and Fanny slammed into her from behind, her run broken by her sister's halted person. This shattered the elder's stunned state, and she burst into a new waterfall of profanities as she stumbled in a flurry of limbs.
Jack glanced out the window, where the setting sun left and dimmed the relatively quiet, peaceful world that was his home by land, where his two daughters were squabbling fiercely, and where a small, sombre figure was bent over and hobbling into the forest. His moment of contemplation, however, was broken as his son squeaked alarm, and Killick ran in with fury, all the more raged due to his momentary distraction with the discipline of his captain's children. The steward snatched away the scraper and fondled it momentarily before rushing to put it to rights again.
The father looked at his son, who was perfectly nonplussed by this brief interruption upon what would have – could have – been a perfectly normal father to son moment. His blue eyes, not at all the light blue of his father, 'though more inclined to the grey, like his mother's, were round with admiration and a fondness unexplained despite. Jack smiled softly at his boy, who scampered away at his grandmother's shrieking call. This wonderful bliss, this instant of what almost resembled that of a normal family – how long could it last? ''Til the sea calls again,' the captain murmured to himself.
+++
'I, for one, am perfectly content to remain here,' commented Stephen to himself as he left the main of the cottage's circumference, left it for the wondrous fields, streams, and wood that his friend possessed. 'Perfectly content,' he repeated, not without satisfaction.
The news of Diana's departure with Jagiello had not been without it's pains, and even now it remained, a dull ache; the bottle indeed remained within reach every night since he had heard. Stephen had not yet actually reached for it, but the pure weakness of dependence upon it's sitting there, on his nightstand, was a terrible smack of pride. However, it clearly did not show, as Jack had not made any sign of concern, and the captain was fairly easy to read.
The doctor opted to take the same path as when he had came to Ashgrove a year or so ago – he gladly passed the plantation and mines, there being nothing quite so interesting as to distract him. However, the wood held a pleasure that could scarcely be described – the bright sun that shone through the boughs above and broke into shards of green light, the hares, deer, and such birds of the country type. Stephen beheld the common thrushes, blackcaps, and larks with just as much pleasure as he would have the condor, if it were not simply for the wondrous surrounding.
As he walked along in the brush and litter of the forest, he realised that this same place had been the point of a good deal of contemplation upon Diana herself. 'I had only just discovered the situation,' he contemplated inwardly, with all the apathy he could muster. Seeming as 'though on cue, a cuckoo burst into it's traditional yelps of 'Cuckoo! Cuckoo!' Stephen did not move in response, and nary a thought concerning it passed through his mind, but rather he continued deliberately on the path.
Too deliberately, he later found. Twigs that were then ignored tore haplessly at his shins, and there were slits in his stockings, and even lines of red. Maturin frowned at the stains of blood against the white – Killick would indeed run mad, should he find this new mischief. 'However, it was unavoidable,' Stephen reasoned. It did not seem so wholly long before he heard the trickling of a stream, and some weak, warning growls that sounded much more like mewls. Stephen gazed across the rivulet and onto the opposite bank, where a fox cub stood guard at the holt's entrance. At first, he thought it was a meagre attempt to drive _himself_ away, but a lump of black and white fur, moving towards the holt, proved otherwise.
His old friend, the badger, had returned to his home, only to find some blasted bunch of upstart cubs. The elderly beast scowled and, if he could have, swore viciously at the young fox. This was enough to send him scampering away, and it's whimpers summoned the others away from the badger's rightful home.
Stephen, a mere bystander, decided it best to leave the badger, staunch and true, at that, and turned about and strode back towards Ashgrove.
+++
Two identical faces peered over the wood panelling that hid the inscription and gazed through well-scrubbed glass; the silver gleamed, as it always did when Killick was home, and the inscription was read out with obvious pride. That brilliant soup tureen, the crowning glory of a gift from the West India Company – 'Personal to my da hi'self,' Fanny would murmur gravely. Charlotte had done so often, and had even brought that foul Helen Needham ('Fucking arse-whore of a swab,' she had muttered rebelliously), and it had indeed brought her prating about her General to an end for a little while.
'Debellare superbos,' the elder echoed after Fanny had read out the caption once more. 'God damn 'is eyes, what's that mean?'
'Whatever it do,' Fanny replied wisely, ''tis poz, so 'tis.' The twins nodded solemnly in agreement. 'Quite the thing, ain't it?' They both turned to look down at George, who stood behind him, apparently expecting some whinge of consent.
'Aye, quite the thing,' their little brother piped, and Charlotte grinned.
'What's it mean, d'you s'pose?' she asked her sister, who shrugged. '"De bell are superb"?' Charlotte offered, 'though it was to no avail. 'Da didn't know, remember?'
'I dunno,' said Fanny with a shrug. 'Beyond me – s'more of O'Mara's thing, ain't it?' Instantly, the indistinguishable visages darkened, their pert noses wrinkling exactly alike, the blue-brown of their eyes dimmed. 'Maybe we ought to ask her.'
'Sucks to O'Mara,' Charlotte declared. 'I'm asking that doctor cove.'
'That doctor cove' was treated like something of a god – quite religious in their actions towards him, unless they were in a terrible mood, and nary a word was exchanged, if it could be prevented. Dr Maturin was awed from afar, and both parties seemed perfectly content to allow it to remain so.
'You can't ask him!' George cried. How could she even think to do such a thing? 'You can't, Lottie –'
'O'course I can!' Charlotte hissed sharply in reply. 'An' don't call me that! 'Tisn't right! I hate it,' she added in a low mutter. George, easily suppressed, nodded meekly and withdrew. Fanny, however, was not so effortlessly pacified.
'You CAN'T,' her twin insisted. 'If Killick caught word of us'n's causing a bother to the doctor –'
'Well, then he WON'T catch word of us'n's causing a bother to the doctor,' Charlotte asserted with a smirk. 'You can – er, cause a distraction!'
'A distraction?' Fanny repeated dubiously.
Charlotte nodded vigorously. 'We can plan it all out, see? It'll be like – like a ruse de guerre!' She eyed George for agreement, who shuffled his feet nervously.
'I don't know...' he mumbled quietly, and Charlotte scowled.
'Listen – _I'm_ the eldest, and _I'm_ the biggest, y'hearken? I'm the strongest, fastest, and smartest, too.' None of these things were necessarily true, save perhaps the first, and that was only by the margin of five minutes or so. 'I can probably fetch you both a sound beating elsewise, 'less you do as I say.'
Needless to say, no one argued with that. There was just such an air of decision in her voice that neither wished to debate any further.
'Good,' said Charlotte with a smile. ''Tis settled, then.'
Nothing could have been more meticulously planned than that single query – never a political coup or ambush by sea had more at stake than this: after all, Killick's fury could prove fatal, as Fanny never hesitated to repeat.
+++
'Good eve, sir,' said George with a bow towards his father. 'You called, sir?'
'Yes, I did,' Jack replied as he motioned for his son to sit down. The dubbed 'library' was not wholly a library at all, 'though this was scarcely minded. 'Now, as I recall, you quite expect to board a man-of-war soon, correct? Rated.'
George nodded enthusiastically, his face lit up amazingly, and, with his cheeks in a pleased red blaze, he broke into a wide, expectant grin. 'Aye, sir!' he cried, scarcely able to contain himself.
'Yes,' said Jack quietly, his face falling at what was his duty. 'Now, George, you know your mother and your grandmother both feel very strongly about your going into the service, and –' George's face fell instantly at these words, anticipation shattered in those few words. Jack frowned. 'I am sorry, George,' he said for good measure, 'though it did little to help.
Jack, quite crestfallen, allowed his eye to wander to the table, where the chart of the 'Diane' and Cape Bowhead lay, alongside a cup of tea and a couple of biscuits. Soft tack, he noted with displeasure, with a pair of weevils squirming their way through and onto the plate. An idea struck him, and Jack smiled. 'George,' he said. 'Do you see those two weevils, just there?'
'Weevils, sir?' George repeated in the same gloomy tone that matched his expression perfectly. 'Why, yes, sir.'
'Which would you pick, George?' His son peered at him with all the air and concern as one for a crazed loved one. 'Now, now, George, really – if you HAD to pick a weevil out of the two, which would it be?'
George took one last worried look at his father before leaning over to study the weevils. 'Why, they're exactly the same. There's no point in it, sir – no difference at all.'
'Pick,' Jack pressed. 'Really, George – just choose.'
George paused and said, 'Well, the one of the left side, sir. It's bigger than the other, see –' Jack's features split into a wide grin, and George looked at his father curiously. 'I say,' said George, 'I say, do tell me what you're on about, sir.'
'George,' said Jack, after he had restrained his chuckles. 'You must remember this for the service, mind – always, ALWAYS, in the Navy – always choose the lesser of two weevils.' The captain burst out into a chortling fit again, and George simply sat there, looking perfectly puzzled. It took a few moments for it to dawn upon him, and George allotted a weak smile, which grew within a minute's time to one just as wide as his father's.
+++
'Which he's right there, Lottie.'
A sharp cuff about the neck was the sole response, from Charlotte, of course, looking positively wrathful at being called 'Lottie' again. George held back a cry, but pointed towards the observatory. 'Right there – he's a-looking just into the glass thing,' he whispered.
Stephen was indeed within the observatory, eyeing something or another; this was observed with some confusion by the children, as it was broad daylight out. However, they ignored this, and Charlotte proceeded boldly towards the astronomical observatory. The other two withdrew to their appropriate stations, on the sharp lookout for Killick, who would probably cuff them a right one if he ever heard of their disturbing the doctor in any way.
'Fine day, ain't it, sir?'
The bold voice caused the surgeon an intense start from the glass – it was one seldom heard, unless in a civil whisper or a loud scream from afar, amidst the fields and wood with her sister, who shouted in an identical tone. Stephen at first looked down, believing them to be of relatively diminutive height, but had to adjust it to only just a little lower than his own – 'Of course,' he reminded inwardly. 'At their age, and according to mine own slight height...'
'Yes, I suppose so,' Stephen replied, mentally wondering why this loud, uncouth creature was speaking to him at all. As a general rule, he disliked children, and even this offspring of his best friend could prove tiring.
Charlotte gulped. All this fellow, this friend of her father's, would have to do is murmur a slight note to Killick, or to their mother, or to Grandmum, and there would be a fierce flogging on. Dray would be insufferable, Killick would give his traditional leer and box on the ear, and Sophia would conceivably take out the rush broom and smack her from Ashgrove to Portsmouth.
'Well, sah,' Charlotte continued to the doctor's chagrin, 'I was a- wondering – your being a learned type, see, I thought you'd be the person to ask.' He blinked, and said nothing. Somewhat discouraged, Charlotte soldiered on, lest she back down. She breathed heavily, with all the air of one attempting to handle a very important, delicate matter. 'Sir, what's that "debellare superbos" bit on the soup tureen mean, sir?'
Stephen raised a quizzical brow at this strange, impertinent slip of a girl, who ignored the risk of a beating simply to know what 'debellare superbos' meant from the Latin. She was staring at him intently, apparently not prepared to leave until she had gained the information.
A loud call like a cuckoo broke the silence from around the closer region of the cottage. Stephen looked at Charlotte suggestively, and she attempted a look of innocence while searching for a hiding place. A moment later, George's high piping voice declared that a local boy was pilfering the silver, and Killick's voice gave a piercing shriek. Charlotte withdrew from her former place from behind the eyeglass's stand, and resumed her resolute stance.
'Audacious little wretch,' Maturin commented silently, and Charlotte gave a sudden shout.
'I say – it's one of the pigeon hawks again!' she cried, apparently pleased.
'A pigeon hawk?' Stephen repeated, immediately interested.
'Aye, sir!' Charlotte said agreeably. 'I haven't seen one of those since I took a hike up to the cliffs, where they were a-nesting –'
'There are pigeon hawk nests near here?' cried Stephen, positively aghast that he hadn't been informed of this before. 'Esmerillion? The merlin hawk?'
'The very same,' said Charlotte, watching the blue-brown fowl streak across the sky with glee. 'Little Corporal, we calls them. Or, when O'Mara's about, "Le Petit Caporal".' She grinned. 'Why's that, sir?' she asked.
'I haven't seen Falco temerarius since Castile,' Stephen breathed, more to himself than to Charlotte, a smile crossing his features as the bird flew away towards the cliffs.
'Well, I can show you where they nest, sir,' Charlotte offered.
Stephen turned about sharply, looking at her with new respect. 'Can you?' he asked.
Charlotte smiled, a little mischievously. 'If you can tell me what that "debellare" stuff means, sir, I'd be honoured.'
Stephen paused, and realised just what she meant. He smiled a little, with a slight nod. Charlotte motioned for him to follow. 'We'll see.'