The Storm-Grey Sea

Chapter Two - A Simple Enquiry

He laughed at the pleasure of teasing her and went back to reading his paper, leaving Rosalind in silence, nibbling on a piece of toast and a bit of egg. Her father spoke occasionally, commenting on the foolish actions of those in the House of Lords - she knew they'd recently rejected Wilberforce's bill, and he was still smouldering about it - and growling small threats at the Admiralty.

"Papa, they'll disrate you if they hear you saying that," she patiently reminded him, when he'd called the Lord Commissioner of the Admiralty nothing other than a "goddamn righteous son of a bitch".

"Are you suddenly a sailor, Rosalind?" he retorted.

"No - I'm more sensible than any sailor," she countered.

He chuckled a bit grudgingly. They were then interrupted by a servant, who came in with a sheaf of letters. He handed most of them to Rosalind's father, but and passed a small note to Rosalind. While her father was preoccupied with opening his letters, some of which bore the Admiralty seal, she opened the note.

"Tell me, did a sailor bring these over?" he asked the servant.

"Yes, sir. A young midshipman, by the looks of him, sir," replied the servant.

Rosalind, with her head bowed, pretended to read, but listened instead to her father. News from the Admiralty could mean only one thing, really. Her father was ashore on leave for now, but there must have been some order handed down that required him.

She felt an unhappy twinge in her breast at the idea of his going off to sea again. She had endured his periodic absence for most of her life, and she knew that the only person who hated it more than she did was him. She despised being separated from him - felt as though some part of her had died whenever he was away.

"Is he still waiting?" asked Rosalind's father.

"Yes, sir. In the hall, sir."

"Have him wait until I have read these and have a response, and then show him into my study," said her father, and, giving the letters a shuffle, stood up from the table, and then turned to Rosalind. "My apologies for leaving you here so rudely, but I have a rather urgent matter that requires my attention."

Rosalind knew better than to question him on the contents of the letters. He would, in due time, tell her, and it was foolish to pester him. She she merely smiled, inclined her head, and watched him leave the room.

"Berkley," she said to the servant, who immediately gave her his full attention. Her father's naval discipline extended not only to his own character, but to his household, too. She herself had been raised as quite the little midshipman, and the servants were as obedient and disciplined as her father's sailors. "This letter, did it come by post?"

"No, Miss Marlowe. A servant delivered it by hand."

"Thank you. That will be all," she said, and dismissed Berkley with a wave of her hand. She had surmised as much, for she recognized the handwriting. Standing, she began to read in earnest, managing to walk from the dining room to the parlour, reading all the while.

"Oh, for pity's sake," she said when she had finished it, and gave a soft sigh of indignation that was mostly put on. The contents of the note pleased her more than they irritated her, but she gave a show of unhappiness.

She had planned to spend the day at home, had planned not to have any visitors, but here was Isaac, giving her a note, telling her he meant to call and perhaps go for a walk in the park. Now she would be expected to dress, and look handsome enough.

And so it was in her most timid, charming manner that Rosalind crept into her father's study. There he sat a desk, scratching away at a piece of paper, and so she was quiet as a mouse coming in.