by L. A. Meyer
Yes, everybody's quite happy ... everybody 'cept poor Joannie...
"But, Jacky, I don't wanna go to school!" she wails as we get out of the coach in front of the Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls. "I wanna go back to sea with you!"
"Hush now, Joannie," I say. "We are not yet heading back to sea, and there are things you must learn if you are to get on in this world: Comportment, Horsemanship, Etiquette, and Management of a Household. Art, Science, and Music, too. You will learn them right here, just as I did. Up the stairs now, down this hall, and into this office. That's it ... head up now."
Both attired in the Lawson Peabody School uniform—black dress, black stockings, and white silk shawl gathered about the shoulders—we enter.
"Put your toes on that white line ... you see it? Good. Now wait—you shall have to get very good at waiting in this world. Ah. Here she is."
A rustle of black silk and a presence enters the room.
"Ah, Miss Faber. Good to see you again. And this is...?"
"Miss Joan Nichols, Mistress, late of London. I would appreciate it if you would take her on."
"I see. I expect that you will vouch for her character?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Very well. Good day to you, Miss Faber. I will now take Miss Nichols and introduce her to the rest of the girls. Please do come back later and recount to us your most recent ... travels. I am sure we will enjoy hearing of them."
I give Joannie a kiss on her damp cheek and leave the office.
As I go, I hear Mistress Pimm say, "Miss Nichols, we here at the Lawson Peabody affect a certain demeanor ... Stand up straight now and lift your chin as if you are delicately balancing a book on your head. All right. Now, lips together and teeth apart. Now drop your eyelids down halfway, projecting a look of languid confidence ... That's good, not perfect, but acceptable. My girls call it the Lawson Peabody Look. It is possible that someday you will, too."
I go out the door and back down to the harbor, leaving Joannie to her fate.
A cough from Ezra brings me back to the present in the bilge of the Nancy B. Alsop.
"Ahem ... and yes, Ezra, it's all legal ... sort of."
I give him a quick summary of just how I got this hoard, and Mother England's possible interest in it. He nods, thinking...
He then says, "My word ... This will have to be handled very secretly, and very, very carefully." More nodding, more thinking. "Subsidiaries ... trusts ... holding companies ... phantomcorporations..."
"Well, dear Ezra, that is your department. Me, I'm going out shopping."
"Shopping?" he asks, somewhat dazed by all this, as I'm thinking, Ha, Ezra! I got you this time!
"Yes, Ezra," I say as I prepare to go back up into the glorious sunshine of a perfect Boston day. "For a ship. A big one."
Oh, it is so very, very good to be rich!
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