She smiled as he did. Philadelphia took great pride and satisfaction in cracking the calloused exterior the former major had obviously spent so long constructing. If, for no other reason, it provided her with insight into who he once was, sating her social curiosity. At times, she found herself reflected in the man shrouded behind the pariah. At times, she desperately hoped that Monsieur Cotard saw the same, as she vied for his approval.
The earl’s daughter stifled a huff; patience was never her strong suit. In dealings with the bratty “companions” of her class, or the self – proclaimed oligarchs that fathered them, she had a tendency to go for the throat. While such a tactic might work among the battlefield, it did little to assist her reputation. What Cotard suggested was ruthless, in its own way, and Philadelphia appreciated the concept greatly, even if it was simply not her nature. Blackmail, exploitation, and insults veiled by eloquence were her father’s speed, not hers.
Philadelphia uncrossed her legs and, in something like respect, averted her gaze as Cotard shakily placed the cup back on the lipped saucer. Logically, she knew there was no reason to be ashamed for such a malady; he had fought once, and now he was an old man. And yet, even she could identify with the awkwardness one might feel as they witnessed themselves wither and weaken. Monsieur Cotard had long reached apotheosis in her eyes, and so she thought nothing of it.
“Do you believe you are untouchable?” She queried and stirred a cube of sugar into the painted porcelain cup. “Forgive me if I am untoward.”
One of the many endearing qualities of the young miss Edrington, beyond of course her fiery and familiar temperament that so often brought to mind his beloved sister, was the fact of her grace. She never made a show of granting his ailing nature overdue attention or lackthereof, and it was admittedly a relief to be neither fussed over nor condescended against on account of the damages time had wrought upon him.
Upon her question, he was startled into the start of a laugh – managing, toward the end, to catch it mid way and shake his head, “There is nothing to forgive,” He assured, thoroughly amused by the question, but having no wish to discourage her through the perception of his mockery. For in truth, he did not condescend but rather marvel at the idea she proposed.
“I do not believe myself to be worthy of so much effort, ma chère,” He confessed warmly, “My time of relevance in such endeavors has long since passed – for most, I am but a man well past his time who is afforded the courtesies due for his service out of proprietary obligation, but no real feeling. I imagine most tire of me, and will me to die soon if only to clear away the memories of wartime failures faster, but few who might be bothered to hurry along the process.”
Here, he smiled, “The benefit, I think, to old age is that those who once held such power with words and ideas become obsolete enough that they cannot harm their peers. While they can certainly be unkind to the young, few waste time on each other when they believe themselves responsible for shaping a future they shall never see, through their influence over youths. As I embark in very few things in my advanced years, I imagine the only person who might turn against me would perhaps be your very father, considering I am far from the sort of company he would desire for you.”
But that, of course, was an amusement between the two of them, and not a threat Andre feared, when his company clearly brought as much joy to Philadelphia as hers brought to him.
It had been a long and most trying day for all parties, of that Andre held no doubt. The sting of betrayal hung heavy in the air, as acrid and bitter as the gunsmoke the sea breeze had yet to wash away. For him it was one in a long line of them – but for the Englishman, he supposed it was a new flavor to swallow.
After a moment of considering that, Andre shifted – not much, but enough to call to mind another sting as his arm protested the motion vigorously. Enough, too, for his shoulder to press against the other man’s and provide a sense of solidarity to the fellow who had been such a steady companion on a journey none of them could have predicted to be so damned.
His eyes flared open the moment he was gripped by the shoulders so bracingly. Without thinking, he reached for the knife in his belt, breaths coming in shallowly as he prepared for a fight. Staring up into the gloom above, the world tipped to the left, bringing with it the swing of the lantern overhead and throwing Lieutenant Bush’s features into sharp relief.
Not long later, the world swayed back to where it had been before and his hand fell away from his side. He took a deep, steadying breath and managed to contain his alarm as he remarked, “This is a miserable way to live.” It was a wonder he had slept at all with the world rocking beneath him like so – but he could imagine easily why that sleep had been so rudely interrupted.
Thinning his lips, he debated whether or not to acknowledge it – but knowing as he did the gruelling nature of the man’s schedule, he found he could not ignore the poignant reality of having been a nuisance when he was meant to be unobtrusive.
“Forgive me,” Sitting up slowly, he gripped the sides of the cot as it wobbled despite his care, paling a bit as he waited for it to still, then, “I did not mean to trouble you.”
Andre could not help but wonder slightly, as he laid coughing upon the snow, when it was he had come to mean so much to the earl’s daughter that his present state would alarm her so. While there was no doubt that he was getting on in years, and it was true he had taken a rather shocking spill just now thanks to missing his step on the ice, there was hardly enough cause to think he’d perish from it.
Sitting up shakily, he supposed it might have something to do with the fact he was also rather ill, and probably ought to have chosen not to come out at all. However, it was not often that he had anything to do, and refusing an invitation meant waiting a long stretch of months before being remembered by the world enough to receive another. While he wasn’t the most sociable of men, he did have some need for companionship from time to time, and he hadn’t thought the cold such a terrible thing.
“It will take more than England’s weather to kill me, mon chou,” He mused as his breath returned to him. Dusting off his pants, he sat in the snow a moment longer and prayed the ache in his bones away as he gripped his cane and attempted to get his feet back under him.
It is difficult to say what is the most jarring aspect of this unexpected visitation of the young earl’s daughter. While her presence alone was shocking considering he had only entertained her here twice before and with appropriate company, that she would arrive in such a state was absolutely inexplicable ( for who in their right mind would cause such damage to a woman in a time of peace? ) it was in fact her accent which left Andre flatfooted.
When she spoke again, he shook himself of the astonishment sharply and stepped back, motioning her in as he gazed past her in case anyone happened to have followed her here. Closing the door after she had passed, he bolted it and made his way quickly as he could manage to where he kept his alcohol. He was not fast on this damnable leg, but thankfully his cottage was a small thing indeed, and it did not take long to acquire what he needed and bring it over to her.
“This will help numb the pain,” He explained, unstoppering the bottle and setting it down for her. “There are no surgeons near here.” Not near enough for a wound like that, at least. She would have been wiser to have turned another way, he was certain. What was worse, he had never truly needed to function without one what with the fact his sister had been such an expert on the matter. Unfortunately she was in France, leading in all that he could not and would not in this chosen exile of his – but he could not simply do nothing.
“We may be able to bind it up – “ Damn propriety when a life was at stake, “Once we stop the bleeding, I can ride for a surgeon, if you will it.” He would not take liberty, regardless – no matter what he did here, the earl was sure to hold him accountable, so it seemed to Andre better instead to focus on the girl herself. In truth, of the two, it was her opinion which mattered more to him either way.
A lopsided smile lit across aging features at this assertion, gnarled hands shifting against the polished wood of the cane upon which his balance so intimately relied when he was not sitting to tea. The ferocity in her reminded him once more of his dear sister, warm against the bitter chill of his chosen exile.
He knew her father disapproved of their talks – that indeed, the Lord Edrington held him in nothing short of disdain – which naturally meant his wilful daughter would do all in her power to converse and walk with him as often as she could. And he supposed, even as his words were spoken, that it might in part be due to the controversial advice he so often found himself offering Philadelphia.
“Sometimes there is merit to calculating precisely how to break it – and holding on to that knowledge until such a time as unleashing it can bear the most satisfying fruits.” Reaching out the steadier of his two hands, Andre picked up his tea and drank in quiet contemplation a time, before lowering the cup and pretending he didn’t notice the way the liquid shivered, or the multiple soft tings as porcelain quaked against itself as the cup settled into its place on the saucer.
“Other times, it is good to simply show you can break it – for that alone, often causes enough question to quiet the condescension so common in those who believe themselves so untouchable.”
This is a permanent starter call for Andre Cotard, of Meridian Television’s 1998-2003 mini series, Hornblower explicitly.
These calls give me a heads up on who is open to interacting with whom (which is handy for those who have exclusives among my crew! ) and gives me an excuse to kick you starters whenever something crosses the mind, or blow up your inbox knowing who would be most wanted.
These calls also serve as a final tag dump – when this call is posted it indicates a character has been fully moved into the blog and is ready for action!
Ocean Archive 