Read Online Master Georgie by Beryl Bainbridge - Free Book Online

breakfast there was pigeon, rump steak, cold hashed meat, eggs prepared in a variety of ways; hard-boiled, scrambled, coddled, fried. This feast was served up at eight o’clock sharp. Two of the engineers and, as bad luck would have it, the wretched Naughton generally kept me company. Neither George nor the womenfolk ever made it to the table. In George’s case this was due to his having drunk too much the night before. Poor Beatrice, she who had boasted so loudly and so long of a desire to sail before the mast, had a miserable time of it, being confined to her berth, sick as a cat, except for those occasions on which Myrtle dragged her from below and marched her, distinctly green about the gills, up and down the deck. I could have been unkind - God knows, Beatrice has given me enough provocation - but I held my tongue. For all her faults, she had proved a satisfactory helpmate, particularly in regard to those intimate services required of a wife. Unlike Annie, Beatrice positively relishes her conjugal duties and has always brought a touching enthusiasm to her participation in our happy tumbles.
    On our fourth day out it became apparent that Naughton was considerably smitten with Myrtle. She, as usual, appeared unaware of it, though she could scarcely move for tripping over him. It wasn’t the first time she had caused a flutter in a manly breast, not that Naughton could by any stretch of the imagination be classified as manly. His lurch towards Myrtle surprised me. I wouldn’t have thought he was discerning enough to appreciate her, he being the shallow sort of fellow susceptible to more obvious charms - a rosy complexion, sparkling eyes, splendid bust, etc. Myrtle was smallish, pale, had a chest as flat as a board, morose eyes of a colour neither green nor brown, and a somewhat sullen pout to her lips. It’s true that when she engaged one in conversation, or was observed playing with the children, or she smiled, it was a different story. Then I do believe she cast a spell. Beatrice adored her, and Annie, who, God knows, had every reason in the world to find her detestable, showed signs of sincere devotion.
    Naughton, struck all of a heap, went so far as to take George to one side and make his feelings known. ‘Your sister is remarkably fetching,’ is how he imprudently put it.
     ‘I imagine that she has many admirers.’ To which George rashly replied she had but one, to whom she was betrothed and who was waiting for her to join him in Constantinople.
    I say rash, because it was highly likely we would continue to rub shoulders with Naughton when we reached our destination, and what did George intend to do then?
    ‘Are you going to hire some young hussar to play the part of lover?’ I asked him.
    ‘I’ll worry about it when we get there,’ he retorted, and then drank so much during the afternoon that he quite forgot to tell Myrtle of her impending marriage.
    Result - in the middle of dinner, the infatuated Naughton turned to her and blurted out for all to hear, ‘Your fiance is a fortunate man, Miss Hardy.’
    The effect of this startling announcement on our section of the table was comical indeed. Annie, about to fork up a portion of pie-crust, sat with open mouth and implement suspended in the air. Poor Beatrice, already munching, choked on her morsel and might have expired if the veterinary surgeon hadn’t thumped her between the shoulder blades. Myrtle alone stayed calm; gazing steadily at the speechless George, she replied, ‘It’s kind of you, Mr Naughton, but I assure you it is I who am fortunate.’
    I don’t know what she said to George afterwards. Nothing, I expect. George could do no wrong. If ever there was a woman with fairy dust in her eyes, it was she. Once, I had appealed to her to put a curb on George’s drinking, which had grown excessive following the demise of his father. ‘It’s not for me to interfere,’ she’d said. ‘Besides, it makes him happy.’
    Secretly, I wondered whether