Lord of Storms
by Sebastian Blade
"You must be Mr. Allen," she said, voice light and sweet as flowers in a garden. "I'm Mrs. Watkins."
Mr. Hadrian Allen had expected to meet the brilliant mind behind The Watkin's Company. He represented an investment group of considerable status and ability, that wished to explore options other than the British East India Company, quiet and discrete options. A confident man with raven hair and unusually violet blue eyes he understood finances with an aplomb that helped him transcend his rather unsavory history.
It was exactly that history though which had caused Watkin's Company to entertain his proposal. She smiled prettily and twirled her yellow parasol against the stubborn end of summer sun. She was a delicately beautiful woman, demure in white gloves and a gown done in yellow lawn in the French style. Her hair was a very striking red, as red as an angry sunset, but a fashionable hat tamed it a bit, making her look like a lady of very high quality, with striking looks that she had no control over.
Both of them stood on the wharf. He held his satchel. She twirled her parasol.
"Where is Mr. Watkins," Hadrian asked bluntly.
"My goodness," Mrs. Watkins said, her eyes wide as she held out her arm, giving the impression that she needed the support. "I'm sure that everything will be taken care of, Mr. Allen. Please do not concern yourself. Your arrival has been greatly anticipated!" She turned, and as she leaned on his arm, he turned as well.
"Now, really," he said trying to walk as slowly as possible. "I don't think it's a good idea for a woman to be on a ship, in any case."
"Is that so, Mr. Allen?" She smiled, looking right into his eyes, transfixing him for just a moment before she looked away, as if slightly embarrassed. "I'm sure everything will be fine. We'll just take a little bit of tea. You do like tea, do you not, Mr. Allen?"
"Of course, of course, but I'm not sure it's circumspect to take tea with a prospective business partner's wife." He seemed slightly startled as they stepped down onto the deck of the ship. "Now, really! Such thing might be done here in the colonies, but where people are...."
"Are what, Mr. Allen?" She asked, giving him the most innocent of smiles, "Do come sit in the Captain's quarters. Tea will help clear your mind."
"There is nothing wrong with my mind, Mrs. Watkins! I need to know where your husband is! At this very moment, if you please, Mrs. Watkins!"
She opened the door to the captain's quarters with a strong and comfortable familiarity. "Seriously, Mr. Allen," she said calmly, "it isn't possible for me to know his whereabouts every moment of the day. And really, don't you prefer your life with a little bit of mystery?"
"Definitely not!" He looked back at the now closed door.
She closed her parasol and handed it to a neatly dressed black servant. The way it moved, Hadrian had the sudden suspicion that it weighed more than he would have expected a proper lady's parasol to weigh.
"This is Mr. Abiodun." She clapped her gloved hands together twice, rapidly and loudly. "He's a fabulous cook and a very talented man."
Mr. Allen cleared his throat and stood there holding. "Mrs. Watkins, you are aware that this person is, well, a Negro?"
"Well, of course, Mr. Allen," she said, letting Abiodun pull her chair out for her. "Do sit down, Mr. Allen. Abiodun, will you serve tea, please?"
"Yes, of course, Madame," he said, his voice deep and very French.
The ship rocked rather sharply and Abiodun caught Hadrian's elbow, guiding him into his seat. "Perhaps there is some weather coming in," Hadrian said, setting his satchel between his feet. "I assume your husband will be joining us shortly?"
"There is nothing I would love better," Mrs. Watkins said. She unpinned her hat an handed it to Abiodun. "You see Mr. Abiodun was rescued by a ship of Janenists when he was very young. So he grew up in France. He is a very versatile member of my crew."
Hadrian had grown up in London. There were certain strong truths which had always underpinned his life and given the world structure. God created the world. God told Adam, who was white, obviously, to mind the workings of said world. Women were there to make men's lives easier. Negroes were there because Cain had killed Able, but God was merciful and simply marked him and all his descendants into servitude. Mrs. Watkins was just off center enough in her speech that Hadrian, very seriously, wished that he might be far away from her. "I really do hope your husband comes soon."
"Oh so do I," she said, picking up a china tea cup and sipping delicately.
The ship positively pitched.
"Did you feel that?" He asked, jumping up.
"No," she said, dropping a little bit more sugar into her tea, "I didn't feel anything. Did you feel something Mr. Abiodun?"
"Certainly not, Madame. Perhaps Monsieur should consider laying down. The sun was quite intense today, even with it being the end of summer. Monsieur is from England, after all."
"Just what, exactly, is that supposed to imply," Hadrian nearly shouted. He'd had quite enough of these people! "I think this ship is moving!"
He grabbed for his satchel, but the ship rocked again, pitching him forward into Abiodun's solid chest.
"I am leaving this instant! I shall be writing your husband a firmly worded letter explaining the many and varied reasons why his company is an unsound investment!"
"It's my company," Mrs. Watkins said.
"Utter nonsense! Has your husband put you up to this?"
"No." She stood and without so much warning as morning gives night, she gave her laces a good pull and her dress dropped away, at just the same moment that the sails dropped loudly outside the cabin.
Whatever she was about to say, it was completely lost on Hadrian Allen. She and the rest of the world went away in a blaze of light. He didn't even feel the floor when it hit him.
Nix this could be a great story. I would love to read the rest.
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