The Daughters Of Cameron by Aleen Malcolm

Author:Aleen Malcolm [Malcolm, Aleen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-01-09T13:00:00+00:00

Kestrel gaily skipped up into the bright warm sunshine on the deck and Jacques and Pierre chuckled seeing her face alive and happy. They watched her nimbly shin up the rigging and join her sister high up where the wind blew their hair and colored their smooth cheeks.

Gladys frowned and shook her head disapprovingly as she saw her star pupil’s hoydenish clothes.

“Dressed like a savage again, oh deary me!” she clucked, hating the heat that caused her clothes to stick uncomfortably to her body and her hair to droop limply around her paint- and sweat-streaked face. She mopped herself with a large hanky and plopped heavily in a canvas chair that groaned protestingly. She panted like the large puppy that sat beside her as they both stared enviously up in the rigging where the two girls enjoyed the cooling wind.

“You know, if I ’ad less of me to ’ide, I might take off a few of these clothes,” she confided to the hound.

“You would be much cooler if you didn’t wear black,” suggested Nick, overhearing.

“I ’ave ter wear black,” replied Gladys defensively.

“Why? Are you in mourning?”

“Oh, yeah, fer me misspent youth,” cackled the large woman. “It’s what’s proper at my time of life being an old maid and all. Anyways it makes me look thinner,” she added. Nick laughed at her candor and looked up at Kestrel.

Gladys followed his gaze.

“All my ’ard work out the winder!” she remarked, shaking her head.

“You know how I feel about what you’re teaching my wife,” replied Nick icily.

“Never know when they might come in ’andy,” returned Gladys pertly.

“When?” probed Nick, intrigued.

“Never know,” repeated Miss Mackintosh. “Never know what could ’appen tomorrer,” she added sagely.

“What could happen?” insisted Nick.

“You ain’t goin’ ter live ferever. Then what’s a poor abandoned girl to do, aye?”

Nick shook his head.

“If I ’ad ’ad a few of them feminine wiles I might’ve made a better life for meself,” stated Gladys Mackintosh with conviction.

“I would prefer that you leave the teaching to me and I’ll leave care of our clothes and the sewing to you,” returned Nick coldly before striding away.

“Oh, ’oity-toity!” sulked Gladys, sticking her nose in the air and heaving her girth with difficulty out of the frail chair.

“Madame Pelisse?” hailed Pierre.

“Mackintosh, you one-eyed scoundrel, Miss Mackintosh,” corrected Gladys irritably.

Pierre frowned. “You are not ’appy this day?” he said softly. “It is the weather that make you have bad temper,” he added sagely. “Soon we ’ave beeg storm and you be funny Mees Coat again,” he added, wickedly pinching her bottom.

“Take yer ’ands off!” cried Gladys, indignantly slapping his hand.

“Oh mon pauvre petit chou purred the rascally Frenchman.

“I ain’t no poor little cabbage, you soppy bloke,” giggled the large woman, flattered, regaining her sense of humor

“That is good. You smile. Now you are my ’appy Mackintosh!” declared Pierre. “We go to bed? Oui?’ he suggested slyly.

“We go to bed? Non! It’s too ’ot, you lusty one-eyed frog!” teased Gladys, not removing his hand from her breast as they left the brightness of the deck for the intimate darkness below.

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