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| Ghosts, Tea, and Dead Parrots; [For the Somersets] | |
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| Topic Started: 23 Nov 2007, 06:35 PM (265 Views) | |
| Lord Cutler Beckett | 23 Nov 2007, 06:35 PM Post #1 |
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Lord Cutler Beckett rode through the streets of Port Royal with a small escort of his own personal marines following in his wake, themselves mounted and armed to the full. They had already passed a patrol of the regular marines, and the Chairman of the East India Trading Company had made sure to bring his horse, Admiral, down hard and fast into a deep looking puddle as they passed, splashing the patrol with dirty, muddy and overall messy water, before continuing on his way up towards the market place, through which he hoped to make it to the upper-class residences of Port Royal's society. With his trusted clerk and right-hand man Mercer riding just behind him and to, suitably, the right, Beckett was able to speak normally and be heard by the clerk over the sound of their horses' hooves clicking and clonking on the ground. "Clear the way, Mercer. The commoners are blocking the way." He spoke the truth, as soon the group was forced to slow down to a halt as the crowds of common-folks making their away around the market place put an effective end to any hope they had of making a swift path across. Mercer nodded to his employer sharply, before kicking his horse forward and signalling for the mounted marines to follow suit, and soon they formed a wedge on the outside of the crowds, with Beckett behind them with a single marine watching. Then, at Mercer's signal, they moved forwards into the crowd, kicking their horses forward to make sure they nudged into the people attempting to go about their normal business there. Many grumblings and moanings were heard from the crowd as the Company men forcefully made a path through them, and as Beckett slowly nudged Admiral forward to ride majestically through said path, an egg came hurtling out of nowhere. His reflexes serving to help him barely escape, the Chairman successfully ducked and the egg flew off into the other side of the crowd, but it did little to stay Beckett's anger at almost being the victim of yet another public embarrassment at the expense of the Company. Calling to Mercer, who turned his own horse around from where it had been shoving people out of the way, Beckett ordered promptly, "If you have an opportunity, show no restraint. These people must learn to acknowledge my authority." "Yes, sir." The Londoner's accent drawled in response, before the clerk kicked his horse into the crowd once more, this time with enough force to actually knock a man down rather than shove him to the side. Scanning the crowd quickly in the hope of locating something with a collection of eggs at their disposal, Beckett had to admit the reality that he would not locate his would-be attacker, and so made his way through the path swiftly, with Mercer and the other marines quickly falling in behind him again as soon as he was clear, and allowing the crowd to reform as jeers and curses were thrown their way, albeit in a more grumbling form than an outright declaration of hatred. Ignoring the jeers, Beckett continued on his way until he realised that there was in fact the tiniest of tiny stains of egg-white on the right lapel of his scarlet jacket. With no warning to those riding behind him, he pulled his horse to an abrupt halt and span it around before riding back pell-mell at the crowd in the market-place. The crowd, as he had hoped, immediately thought he was charging them, and scattered to the edges of the street as Beckett stopped in the centre of the square that was the main hub for local commerce. With the commoners surrounding him but with a fair distance between them, Beckett slowly looked from side to side and said in a loud voice as Mercer and his guards arrived behind him, "It would seem that you are not aware of the ways in which you treat your betters." The previously scared crowd seemed to regain some of its more defiant nature at these words, and the mumblings amongst themselves began once more. Not tolerant in the slightest, Beckett gestured to Mercer, who showed his remarkable talent for knowing precisely what his superior wanted regardless of not being informed prior, and drew a pistol from the inside of his jacket. Aiming to the sky, Mercer fired a single shot with brought a sudden silence to the crowd, and Beckett continued speaking, his tone suggesting that he was talking to nothing more than a room full of naughty schoolboys who had just been caught breaking the rules and were now facing the Headmaster and his cane. The fact that Beckett's cane rested on the side of his saddle helped Beckett enforce this image, and he took it in his hand and held it as he said, "Must I remind you of the common rules of propriety? Perhaps you all need a swift lesson in discipline? Because as you can see I have the appropriate teachers ready." He gestured to Mercer and the marines, the clerk already taking the measure of reloading his pistol as he sat in the saddle, despite having at least three others hidden on his person. When he finished he made a particular scene of bring it to full-cock, the sound of it echoing throughout the near-silent market place. The mumblings had come to a complete stop now, though the Chairman could practically feel the ill thoughts and would-be actions of the commoners around him, yet he continued unabated, "Should I feel that any amongst your class has shown me disrespect again, feel assured that you will all be forced to regret it. Most severely." He left a short pause, as he gave them a leering look, before adding in a mock-casual voice, "But by all means, does anyone have anything to add to that? Does anyone question me?" The crowd seemed to have unanimously agreed to not push the Lord any further, and after the long silence, Beckett let a quick smirk pass over his lips before he kicked his horse and sped off out of the market place with his escort in tow. Rounding the corner and travelling a short distance up the street there, Beckett came to yet another halt and began to try and gently remove the tiny bit of egg-white that resided on his lapel. Mercer dutifully handed him a handkerchief to aid him as the group waited silently for Beckett to finish to his satisfaction.... |
 
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| Marmaduke Somerset | 23 Nov 2007, 06:44 PM Post #2 |
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Marmaduke and Oliver Somerset had been riding out in the streets of Port Royal for approximately an hour, both of them attired as young men of their station should be in silk stockings, gold-buckled shoes, breeches, sparkling white shirt, waistcoat, coat, cravat, and, of course, tricorners. Now they were approaching the main square (for about the third time on their circuits through town) and Marmaduke took off his hat for a moment to scratch the top of his head. It was ever so nice not to be wearing his wig; he only wore it on formal occasions because he was young enough to get away without one as yet. In a couple years he would have to wear it constantly, though, and he dreaded the approach of that time. Wigs were insupportably hot, and also he had the feeling that they were slightly unclean. But for right now, he was free. Sticking the tricorner back on his head, Marmaduke ignored the attempts of Mr Wilkes, their tutor, who was following slightly behind them, to catch his attention. He knew very well that Mr Wilkes thought that they should return home at the first opportunity. Mr Wilkes detested being outside the house, finding riding to be a dirty and unwholesome activity. Perhaps that was why Mr Wilkes looked very unhealthy and pale, Marmaduke thought; he never took exercise unless he had to in order to provide Oliver or Marmaduke with an escort. But right now, both of the brothers were out of the house and free, and Marmaduke had absolutely no intention of going back until he felt that he could not ride another moment. Since he was an excellent rider due to his recent practice at it, he figured it would be a long time. He did not want to return because of two very excellent reasons. One was his grandmother. She would be hanging around somewhere on the first floor (he was only grateful that her weight was too vast to allow her easy access to the upper floors any longer), ready to pounce on him the moment he got back. Marmaduke believed God and Christ the Saviour, as did any good Protestant Englishman, but was quite willing to leave the zealous trumpeting of the Gospel and preaching of the LORD to his grandmother. He thought that he did all right by God, thank you very much, and that his grandmother was entirely insane to keep harping at him about his deviltry and his pernicious character. The other reason was Morgan the house steward, and there was an even more insane person. He actually called Marmaduke by a nickname of the steward’s own invention: Barmy. Barmy! And Marmaduke, though he was the Marquess of Worcester, perforce had to put up with it, simply because Morgan had his grandmother’s ear. Marmaduke lived in her estate until such time (only two years, thank God!) that he could purchase his own, and thus was obliged to put up with her choice of steward. He could not fire the man. Marmaduke thought it was rather ironic that he had all manner of ancestral holdings in England, where he could not live for fear of his uncle murdering him, while Port Royal contained the one ancestral holding where he could live yet he absolutely despised the place. Nothing could be done with his funds without his signature, yet he was too young to add properties to those he had inherited. It was a confounded situation to be in. He slouched in his saddle as he thought of it. Suddenly from up ahead a pistol-shot rang out. Marmaduke and Oliver, with the instinctive understanding of siblings and boys under the age of fourteen, immediately forgot everything they had been thinking about before and hurried their horses towards the noise. Mr Wilkes and his protests were left behind as a surge of citizens wisely headed on directly the opposite vector to the Somersets separated them. A pistol-shot! What might have caused it? Perhaps it was a duel of honour (exciting!) or it might be pirates (more exciting still!) or it might even be the beginning of some army, marine, or naval action (the most exciting by far, simply grand!). There had been a number of ships arriving in the port recently, Indiamen like the one they had come in on plus a number of ships with rather more cannons. Those had marines on them; maybe they were fighting with His Majesty’s marines again, only with guns this time! Cheered up beyond belief by the prospect of seeing something like that, both boys nearly broke their horses’ back reigning up at the edge of the square. Some fellow with—oooo! With marines about him!—was leaving by the next street over, his retinue following him. At once coming to the opinion that the fellow had somehow been responsible for the pistol-shot (this was based on the fact that the crowd of citizens was turning sourly back to its every day routine upon the fellow’s departure), Marmaduke said excitedly, “Come on, Oliver!” and proceeded to set his horse through the a cross-street connecting with the one the fellow had taken at a canter. Oliver followed, and they nearly rode bang into the man as they arrived on his street; he’d stopped right in the middle of the street to dab at his lapel for some reason. Not familiar with Lord Cutler Beckett’s face or station, Marmaduke was obliged to address him only as a gentleman, unaware of his proper title. He asked curiously, but with the tone of both expecting and being entitled to an answer that life in the aristocracy gave to a person, “What was all that about, sir?” He tried to see what it was on the man’s lapel unobtrusively. Was it blood?! Maybe the man had just left a duel, where he’d won his honour back with the bullet that had taken his opponent’s life, but had gotten spattered in the process. How exciting that would be! |
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| Lord Cutler Beckett | 23 Nov 2007, 06:46 PM Post #3 |
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“What was all that about, sir?” The sound of a child's voice had Beckett lift his head up from where it had been gazing down at his lapel, and he was met with the sight of two young boys facing him, sat upon the backs of horses. The fact that they were riding, and were wearing fine clothes, revealed to the Chairman that they were at least members of a wealthy family, though he could care little for such details when he was not being addressed appropriately by mere children. Straightening up in the saddle, the egg-white from his lapel a thing of the past, Beckett look at the two children, boys, from one to the other. One was clearly the older, and by the looks of things had been the one who had asked the question, and had an aura about him that suggested he was very 'proper' and dignified, whereas his young counterpart, whom Beckett assumed to be a brother or relative, seemed far more childlike in his demeanour, somewhat timid but nonetheless full of insatiable curiosity. Reminding himself of how he was not a huge fan of interacting with children, but deciding to maintain pleasantries for the time being due to their apparently prestigious statuses, the Chairman replied with a drawling, "The common folk were being disciplined, young one," He said, his gaze fixed on the older boy, "And it is 'your Lordship' or 'my Lord' rather than 'sir' if you don't mind." He allowed a quick pause at this point, as if hoping that looks of astonishment and awe would pass over the boys faces, but he soon put an end to his silence and continued to speak in a casual, though ever businesslike really, tone as he said, "You two certainly do not look like members of the masses, so I'm sure your father has taught you to understand that once in awhile we betters must tame the wild commoners, lest they get too ahead of themselves. Speaking of which," Another slight pause, as his eyes flickered from the elder to the younger, then back again, before continuing, "Who is your father? There are good chances I have at least heard of him if he makes his wealth through commerce." He had decided to not address the fact that at that moment the boys did not appear to be being minded or watched by anyone, as it was none of his concern after all. If anything, Beckett merely wished to find out which family the boys' came from and whether or not he had to take special measure to be cordial with them because of it. Mercer's horse sniffed impatiently behind him, but Beckett ignored it as he waited for the boy's response. |
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| Marmaduke Somerset | 23 Nov 2007, 06:47 PM Post #4 |
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“The common folk were being disciplined, young one, and it is 'your Lordship' or 'my Lord' rather than 'sir' if you don't mind.” A look of astonishment crossed Marmaduke’s face at this startling pronouncement from the fellow. He expected Marmaduke to address him as a common merchant would? Marmaduke could easily pick up from this request that was really more of a command that the man held at least a courtesy title, and that the fellow was peeved at being addressed without it. That was understandable, since Marmaduke himself hated to be addressed without his due respect. However he was likewise quite certain that this man did not outrank him, since only dukes and royalty did. There was no need for Marmaduke to call anyone by the phrase, “my Lord.” He was just wondering the best way to point this out when the man spoke again. “You two certainly do not look like members of the masses, so I'm sure your father has taught you to understand that once in awhile we betters must tame the wild commoners, lest they get too ahead of themselves. Speaking of which, who is your father? There are good chances I have at least heard of him if he makes his wealth through commerce.” Father had actually spoken of keeping the lower classes pacified, but he’d said the best way to go about it was to ensure that they had plenty of hard work to keep them busy yet also enough wages and leisure time to make it worth while to them. He’d never mentioned pistol-shots at all. Nevertheless, this was hardly the time to go about disputing this man’s methods of addressing the issue, especially since Marmaduke had been asked a direct question and was now required to answer. Even though the fellow had not asked with the proper courtesy due his station. Marmaduke despised being called “young one,” and now the man asked after his father, who was dead. While on the one hand that was a perfectly reasonable mistake to make, if he was being fair, on the other hand it was still highly irritating. Well, Marmaduke himself had made one error of address; he would allow this man one error also without umbrage. It was only good policy. He said, without rancour or any deviation from courteous neutrality, “My father was the Most Honourable the Marquess of Worcester. He was not much involved in commerce except that he held shares in the East India Company.” Some of Marmaduke’s stoic determination to appear completely formal was broken then, and there was the tiniest of sad quavers in his voice as he spoke next, before he suppressed all trace of emotion again. “But my father is now dead, and so those shares have passed to me, as I have the honour to be Lord Worcester.” Realising the need for introductions, Marmaduke indicated Oliver with a gesture, saying, “And he is my brother, the Lord Lennox. Whom do we have the pleasure of addressing?” He sat upright in his saddle, quite pleased with himself for having found a polite way of handling the situation without actually being obliged to call the man “my Lord” as a common citizen would; this way he retained his dignity, yet the strange Lord did also. |
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| Oliver Somerset | 23 Nov 2007, 06:56 PM Post #5 |
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Oliver was free at last, and his sense of liberty showed in the line of his posture on horseback. Just that morning he had finally succeeded with subjunctives in his French lesson with Mr. Wilkes; the tutor had been pleased enough to allow him to go riding with Marmaduke early in the day. French was very hard, Oliver thought, especially to write; why wasn't it spelt the way it was said? English wasn't always spelt the way it was said, but French was a lot worse. How come "versailles" was selled "V-E-R-S-A-I-L-L-E-S" instead of "V-E-R-S-A-Y-E"? It didn't make any sense, why have a bunch of Ls in there if you didn't say them? He sighed and kicked his small grey horse to trot a little faster. Oliver was enough of an equestrian to ride a horse rather than a pony - he sat his saddle very finely and properly - and he was immensely proud of having Lydia for his special use. She wasn't very tall for a horse, and so she had to trot a little to keep up with Marmaduke's chestnut, but she had the look of Spanish blood, with a Roman nose and a very light grey colouring. Someone who didn't know better might call her a white horse. But Oliver had been firmly drilled on proper horse terminology and would thoroughly browbeat anyone who called Lydia white. When the shot rang out, however, he jerked the horse to a halt and looked about, a grin appearing instantly on his features. He saw Marmaduke shift to turn his horse and followed his brother, riding just to the right of Marmaduke and a little bit behind. Oliver was on fire with excitement and curiousity as they cantered after Beckett. The man had soldiers with him! And Oliver guessed they had to be marines; they had white facings on their red coats. Was he a Navy officer? Oliver had never actually met a Navy officer before. Why had he shot someone? Who had he shot? Was it pirates? Or the French! Or the Spanish! Maybe there was going to be a battle! And if there was, the 29th would definitely have to be in it! His face was all over eagerness, and Oliver was hardly able to contain all the questions he wanted to ask the strange man in favour of letting Marmaduke speak first. Marmaduke was so slow! Of course, the crowd seemed to be returning to their business, but Oliver didn't let that completely dash his hopes of seeing a real battle for the first time. Unfortunately Beckett shortly finished the job of dashing hopes with his next statement. Oliver looked crestfallen as Beckett explained, "The common folk were being disciplined, young one. And it is 'your Lordship' or 'my Lord' rather than 'sir' if you don't mind." After getting over his initial disappointment, Oliver frowned, looking confused. He and Marmaduke shouldn't have to address anyone like that, unless they were a Duke or royalty in which case it ought to be Your Grace or Your Highness or Your Majesty. And he was pretty sure this man wasn't the King. Oliver did not entirely understand all of the dynamics yet, but the appropriate titles by which he was to call other individuals according to their station had been firmly drilled into his head. This went against what he had been taught, but being generally accustomed to assuming that adults were correct all the time, he supposed that this man must be right. Marmaduke had better apologise quickly. He glanced towards his brother briefly, before the man spoke again. "You two certainly do not look like members of the masses, so I'm sure your father has taught you to understand that once in awhile we betters must tame the wild commoners, lest they get too ahead of themselves. Speaking of which, who is your father? There are good chances I have at least heard of him if he makes his wealth through commerce." This entire speech went somewhat above Oliver's head; the idea of having to actually enforce discipline was one that he had never run across before. His father had never, in point of fact, sat down to talk with him about such things, nor had it ever been in his lessons with Mr. Wilkes. He was very much too young to worry about it. The only thing he really understood was the question, but Marmaduke was answering that anyways. “My father was the Most Honourable the Marquess of Worcester. He was not much involved in commerce except that he held shares in the East India Company. But my father is now dead, and so those shares have passed to me, as I have the honour to be Lord Worcester. And he is my brother, the Lord Lennox. Whom do we have the pleasure of addressing?” Oliver's face was steadily growing more downcast; it had been two years since his father died, and his memories were fading, but it still hurt him somewhere in his ribcage to hear it. "Hello, your lordship," he said, subdued. |
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| Lord Cutler Beckett | 23 Nov 2007, 06:58 PM Post #6 |
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“My father was the Most Honourable the Marquess of Worcester. He was not much involved in commerce except that he held shares in the East India Company. But my father is now dead, and so those shares have passed to me, as I have the honour to be Lord Worcester. And he is my brother, the Lord Lennox. Whom do we have the pleasure of addressing?” Not entirely impressed by the boy's superior manner of speaking, even if what he said was true, Beckett raised an eyebrow slightly as he listened, allowing it to rest only when he mentioned that his father was dead. Pointedly not showing any sign of apologising for mentioning the deceased relative, the Chairman simply glanced briefly at the younger boy as he was introduced by his brother, in time to hear him say in a voice that was somewhat more depleted in enthusiasm than Beckett had previously expected upon first laying eyes upon him, "Hello, your lordship," Beckett nodded simply, before returning his gaze to the elder brother, the mere child Lord Worcester, and said curtly, making no further mention of the boys' dead father as he did so, "You have the honour," Beckett deemed himself as having the right to allow arrogance to spill into his words when he spoke to inferiors or children, as was the case, "Of addressing Lord Cutler Beckett, Chairman of the Honourable East India Trading Company." He had made a point of not addressing either of the boys with the titles that their claimed statuses demanded, mainly due to the Chairman's outright refusal to treat a mere child as anything other than an inferior, with the only exception being a Prince of the Realm, in which case he would be forced to make a more genteel approach. However, a Marquess boy of no more than thirteen at best did not rank on the short list of people in the Empire that Beckett felt obliged to be duly respectful towards, and instead he merely continued using the pointed lack of 'my Lord' or other greetings as he made a little gesture with his hand that had Mercer trot up slowly behind him, but enough to hopefully draw the attentions of the two children. A faint smirk on the left side of his mouth forming, Beckett said in his drawling but nonetheless authoritative tone, "And this is Mr Mercer, my trusted associate. Say hello, Mercer." "Your Lordships." Was the clerk's simple reply, though his expression did not portray the slightest amount of warmth, "Shares in the Company you say, Lord Worcester," Beckett subtly make the name sound mocking, though not quite enough to be called out upon, "Then I'm sure you'll be pleased with the profit that such shares are no granting you." In secret, Beckett was already trying to calculate how powerful and how wealthy these boys, who claimed to be the Lord Worcester and the Lord Lennox, really were and if there was any way Beckett might benefit from their presence in the Caribbean. The fact that they were mere children did not produce any ounce of guilt in the Chairman's mind as his thoughts were full of speculations and ideas that would do nothing but manipulate them to do his bidding. At the end of the day, child or not, Beckett had a global monopoly to run. Therefore, it was nothing personal. Just good business. |
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| Marmaduke Somerset | 23 Nov 2007, 07:01 PM Post #7 |
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“You have the honour of addressing Lord Cutler Beckett, Chairman of the Honourable East India Trading Company.” Marmaduke’s eyes widened. No wonder the man had requested his rank. His name was well-known; it was he who had steered the Company on its present successful course. His accomplishments entitled him to respect. Marmaduke said, “My error, Lord Beckett. I did not know.” It was impossible to say whether or not this made any effect at all on the Chairman. Marmaduke thought privately that it was very likely difficult to tell if anything had any effect on the man’s mood. He seemed to have a singularly impervious expression, stuck somewhere between confidence of his superiority and an absolute conviction that he was right about everything. In fact it was quite a haughty look indeed. The man did, however, smirk and say, “And this is Mr Mercer, my trusted associate. Say hello, Mercer.” The man he indicated, a fellow with a positively villainous face, let his horse come one step forward for him to say, “Your Lordships.” Mr Mercer seemed to regard Lord Beckett’s high-handedness as a normal sort of thing, so Marmaduke made no response to the rather presumptive manner in which the introduction was made except to say politely, “How do you do, Mr Mercer?” Of course, Mercer kept his mouth shut, as any good trusted associate should. Speak only when your superiors wanted you to, that was the key to a useful subordinate, and obviously Mercer had been well-trained. Marmaduke had not expected him to reply, and indeed his attention was already back on Lord Beckett. He was easier to look at than Mercer—there was something disquieting about that fellow. Beckett ignored Mercer’s greeting. His interest was somewhere else. “Shares in the Company you say, Lord Worcester. Then I’m sure you’ll be pleased with the profit that such shares are now granting you.” Lord Beckett made Marmaduke’s title slightly mocking, but that was to be expected. Many who felt that they had done or suffered much to make a name for themselves resented that a boy who had inherited his title outranked them. There were also many who simply resented him for his youth, and others still who resented that anyone outranked them, who wished to be King if they could. Lord Beckett might fall into any or all of these categories, and any of them would induce him to mock Marmaduke where he could. Marmaduke did not hold it against him. There was absolutely no point in it; he would waste energy in holding a grudge just because he did not feel that Beckett was according him true respect. He could not make Beckett respect him, and thus any courtesy that came from Beckett would be dismissive. That was fine. As long as the man retained enough decorum that he did not insult the Somerset family name, there was no harm done and no reprimand needed. He could be as mocking as he liked as long as he kept up a farce of politeness. Sticks and stones, and all that. But Marmaduke would remember. However, he addressed Lord Beckett as if he had taken the man’s words at face value, keeping his voice level with the proper respect for Beckett’s station; his tone was not obsequious, it merely accorded Beckett an acknowledgement of his achievements. “Yes, I am well-pleased. Their worth has grown to five times the previous value since you have taken over direction of the Company. I cannot say that anyone could be displeased with shares that bring in nearly half a million guineas a year. Your leadership has certainly been effective, although I am not familiar with the particulars of it. I believe you have secured the East Indies from piracy?” That had the unfortunate ring of flattery, but there was no other way to say it. Lord Beckett would have to know that he had been an effective leader and that there was no evading the fact if a discussion of the Company’s profits came up. He would have to forgive truthful flattery. Seeing a possible way to increase the wealth of the Somerset name, something his father had always been interested in and therefore ensuring that Marmaduke was also, he hesitated a moment before asking, “Lord Beckett, might I invite you to dinner some time to discuss the Company’s future? The saddle of a horse is perhaps not the most comfortable of places to do so.” He was not going to be crude to Lord Beckett and attempt to discuss money with the man in front of Beckett’s subordinates, and that was the most courteous way he could think to try and let Beckett know that he wished to ask about further investment with the Company. |
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| Lord Cutler Beckett | 23 Nov 2007, 07:04 PM Post #8 |
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(OOC ~ Here comes the first of many discourtesies from His Lordship  )“Yes, I am well-pleased. Their worth has grown to five times the previous value since you have taken over direction of the Company. I cannot say that anyone could be displeased with shares that bring in nearly half a million guineas a year. Your leadership has certainly been effective, although I am not familiar with the particulars of it. I believe you have secured the East Indies from piracy?” Half a million guineas? This orphan certainly was swimming in wealth, enough even to impress the vastly wealthy Lord Beckett, and although he would never admit it, he felt somewhat envious towards one who could have access to such riches at such a young age. Waiting for his short speech to finish, the Chairman then inclined his head curtly before replying with, "Yes, I'm sure half a million is more than enough for one your youthful desires and interests, Lord Worcester," He said, keeping his expression neutral but his tone somewhat patronising, "And yes, the East Indies are indeed free of piracy thanks to the East India Company Armada. We benefit from correctly prioritised funding, constant drilling and only the finest leadership." This wasn't a simple self-compliment, though Beckett certainly thought that he was personally responsible for the scourging of piracy in the East Indies - he merely had to present himself as a courteous man to the public. It was true that there were men among the higher-ups of the Company, such as Admiral Sir Hamilton and the until-recently reliable Lieutenant Greitzer, and they had been instrumental in the scourge, but it was Beckett who nonetheless found them, hired them, and set them about their task, and that was enough to give himself credit for, the Chairman thought. Not to mention that he considered the Armada superior to the Royal Navy in almost every aspect. “Lord Beckett, might I invite you to dinner some time to discuss the Company’s future? The saddle of a horse is perhaps not the most comfortable of places to do so.” Lord Worcester had the money to invest, and so despite his youth Beckett could not turn away such an opportunity to garner more funds and support for the Company, particularly in the Caribbean when support for his actions was becoming scarce most quickly. Though he himself did not regard this mere boy in any high regard, he was sure men such as Swann or Jeffreys would allow themselves to be bound by courtesy and protocol to respect the boy's status and influence enough to give Beckett some more leg room in his activities - leg room that he would need for when Admiral Sir Hamilton arrived with the first large military task force of Company ships. The likelihood of some kind of uproar amongst either the social elite or the Fort Charles garrison would require all the support Beckett could get to put down quickly. "Consider your invitation considered and accepted, Lord Worcester," Beckett replied, though he was sure to make sure he did not consider himself inferior by adding, "An opportunity to discuss matters with those who have not yet gained experience in them is always a good chance to pass on wisdom and advice, wouldn't you say?" |
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| Oliver Somerset | 23 Nov 2007, 07:06 PM Post #9 |
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Beckett didn't do anything but nod at Oliver, which would ordinarily have stung him, to be not noticed at all. Since he was rather upset to begin with, it made him angry; his face set in a childish glower, he kept his eyes fixed on Beckett while the chairman was speaking with Marmaduke. Obviously the man had to be wrong about the my Lord thing, because Marmaduke was calling him Lord Beckett, and Marmaduke was always right about that kind of thing. So he'd lied too! And he was still not saying anything to Oliver, not even Hello; he was just ignoring him as if he didn't exist. Oliver didn't like Mercer any more than Beckett when the trusted associate appeared; Oliver's anger flickered as he crossed gazes with Mercer. The man had an ugly pock-marked face but that wasn't what made him creepy. It was the clerk's flat, cold eyes. They made him think of the glass eyes of the parrots in his grandmother's mansion. His mouth quivered and he looked down at the ground and away from Mercer for a few moments, before Oliver's hands tightened on the reins. He sat up straight, unwilling to let himself look frightened, and set his mouth firmly; he wasn't going to be scared by a liar's toady! The glare he directed at Beckett grew progressively more dark as the chairman talked to Marmaduke. Oliver didn't understand most of what they were saying - well, he knew what the words meant, except for prioritised, but he didn't really care about guineas per year, shares, and whatnot. But what he did understand was that Beckett was in some way making fun of Marmaduke. He could hear it in the man's voice. Beckett thought he was better than Marmaduke. Since Oliver was convinced that no one was better than Marmaduke, he resented the belittling tone. Marmaduke actually invited the man to dinner - why ever would his brother want to actually see the stupid Lord Beckett again? - and then the chairman accepted it, using more purposefully big words that Oliver expected he thought he would confuse them with. Oliver's eyes narrowed. He wanted to tell Beckett something to make his eyes pop; like honorificabilitudinitatibus. That was from Shakespeare, and Oliver had very carefully memorized the word so that he could say it correctly. He bet Beckett didn't know what that word meant. The powerful resentment was just growing and growing, and Oliver had to let it out somehow. Lifting his hand quickly, he pulled his nose upwards, crossed his eyes, and put out his tongue in a gargoylish face at Beckett. He knew Marmaduke would be angry with him if he saw, so it was just a very quick motion, and then Oliver was sitting serenely, hands properly on his reins, just as if he'd not done anything. |
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| Marmaduke Somerset | 23 Nov 2007, 07:07 PM Post #10 |
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“Yes, I'm sure half a million is more than enough for one your youthful desires and interests, Lord Worcester. And yes, the East Indies are indeed free of piracy thanks to the East India Company Armada. We benefit from correctly prioritised funding, constant drilling and only the finest leadership.” Beckett’s voice was condescending, and the fact did not go by Marmaduke. Yes, it was quite true that half a million guineas a year was more than he currently used for all the expenses that he could dream up, but Marmaduke’s interests were not so very different from those of his peers; he desired to increase his prestige and power, quite naturally enough. He dismissed the possible connotation of boastfulness in the last statement; sometimes things were true and couldn’t be said with humility. “Consider your invitation considered and accepted, Lord Worcester.” Marmaduke nodded his head in acknowledgement, glad that Beckett had accepted his invitation; an opportunity to increase his fortune and thus increase the power and prestige of his family name was in the offing. He was about to make some polite remark before taking his leave when Beckett went and ruined his courteous acceptance with, “An opportunity to discuss matters with those who have not yet gained experience in them is always a good chance to pass on wisdom and advice, wouldn't you say?” This time the man’s tone was quite correct, but his choice of wording was less than exactly polite. Briefly, Marmaduke wondered if it was possible for Lord Beckett to keep both voice and words courteous, but decided that it probably wasn’t. It looked to be against his constitution. What he said was true, of course. That was part of why he wished to speak with Beckett himself instead of merely investing the money in some section of the Company on his own. Beckett knew his company the best, he would know where the area of most promise was, and he would, therefore, be the most competent to advise Marmaduke. Nevertheless, it was impolitic of him to state it out here, in front of his underlings. That was simply discourteous, to imply Marmaduke was an irresponsible brat without a shred of competence about him. Marmaduke had worked his way through inheritance legalities handily enough, thank you very much, and had some idea of investment legalities as well. Yet he was also smart enough to realise that Lord Beckett’s knowledge of such, and the wisest courses of investment and the like, was vastly superior to his. Marmaduke considered how to respond. He could not allow himself to be trampled here, not when he had been studiously polite specifically for the purpose of avoiding offence to Beckett. He was aware that many found it difficult to accord him proper respect because of his youth, and he was willing to overlook a certain amount of liberty in address from fellow peers and those like Beckett with courtesy titles. But he could not overlook everything, otherwise Beckett would start out with the idea that Marmaduke could be pushed around. He had no wish to offend Beckett, but he had no wish to be offended by Beckett, either. He thought of the most courteous way that he could to let Beckett know that he had picked up on the patronising and did not appreciate it, adding a compliment in the front to illustrate that he was also aware of his own limitations and not an empty-headed boy protesting that he knew everything. “I do not doubt that the wisdom of the Chairman exceeds my own in the matter. I am sure your advice will be welcome, Lord Beckett, providing it remains advice.” Marmaduke’s voice was the epitome of polite respect as he gave this reminder that he was, in fact, a person of will instead of some confused young Marquess. Because his full attention was on Beckett, just as he’d always been taught it was polite to give your full attention to those you addressed, he missed Oliver’s misbehaviour, completely unaware of the subversive intent in his brother. |
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| Lord Cutler Beckett | 23 Nov 2007, 07:08 PM Post #11 |
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“I do not doubt that the wisdom of the Chairman exceeds my own in the matter. I am sure your advice will be welcome, Lord Beckett, providing it remains advice.” The boy's tone was perfectly civil, as to be expected, yet his words carried with them just enough demand for respect that it made Beckett decide that it would be neither practical nor amusing to continue belittling him any further. A fleeting glance in the direction of the younger of the two assured the Chairman that he could probably push him around instead at a later time, if only to keep himself entertained, before he decided that the concept of talking finance, commerce, and potential investment in the Company was too important a priority to be overshadowed by mere amusements. He missed the boy's gesture by a fraction of a second, and when he cast his gaze back his face had returned to normal. Not sure what to make of it, Beckett decided to pay attention to the elder of the two. What was more, 'Lord' Worcester seemed quite determined to both flatter Beckett and remained on an equal footing; he deserved at least one chance to speak business then, surely? Before replying to the boy, Beckett held out a hand to his right and almost immediately Mercer had placed a small collection of parchment slips that made up his schedule for the upcoming week. With the Company's occupation of the Caribbean, or rather, 'incursion into', still in the early stages, the Chairman often found his days filled with nothing but constant work-related business; but nevertheless it seemed that he was free that very evening. Would the good 'Lord' Worcester agree? "It would seem," Beckett said, as his eyes scanned one piece of parchment rather than looking at who he was speaking to, "That my schedule permits me one free evening; tonight. Unless of course, you do not mind having an associate of mine, Admiral Sir Hamilton, also attend; in which case I can also make such a meeting in two evenings' time, after the Admiral has arrived." Technically, the arrival of the Admiral was 'need to know' information, but Beckett doubted that the two boys before him could do any damage with such knowledge; after all, the real secret was what Hamilton was bringing with him; indeed, those who did know of his coming were under the impression that he would arrive with a task force designed for systematic pirate-extermination and trade route security, when in fact he was bringing a much larger force; and even that was only the first wave of several that would slowly build up into a fleet capable of scourging piracy and other threats to Company interests in one swift strike across the Caribbean. Of course, to dwell on such thoughts at such a moment in time was ill-advised for the Chairman, and he dismissed them from his mind before handing the parchment slips back to Mercer and beginning to suspect that the attendance of a high-ranking military figure, an Admiral of all things, would probably be enough to entice the two young boys. It was Beckett's experience that stated that the youth always loved the military; Beckett was one of the few who had always found business far more appealing from a very young age. After all, was it not business that dominated the world's economy? Was it not business and commerce that the military was subservient to? Or at least, was in practice if not officially. Either way, he awaited a response in silence. (OOC ~ Blah, crappy post. Sorry) |
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| Marmaduke Somerset | 23 Nov 2007, 07:09 PM Post #12 |
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Lord Beckett looked away from Marmaduke and towards Oliver momentarily, allowing Marmaduke to study the man for a moment without being observed. At least not by the Chairman himself; Marmaduke noted that Mercer, the ‘trusted associate’ behind the man, never took his eyes off him. Marmaduke engaged in a minor staring match with the man, but was forced to break it off as Lord Beckett extended a hand and Mercer immediately placed a collection of papers into it. The Chairman scanned the papers, and while he did Marmaduke quietly assessed Mercer again. The fellow must be a clerk, if he had the Lord’s schedule, but such an odd clerk Marmaduke had never seen before. The Chairman, still scanning his papers, said, “It would seem that my schedule permits me one free evening; tonight. Unless of course, you do not mind having an associate of mine, Admiral Sir Hamilton, also attend; in which case I can also make such a meeting in two evenings' time, after the Admiral has arrived.” Marmaduke considered Lord Beckett’s statement carefully, but quickly. An admiral was not a personage to be sneered at, even if he was admiral of a merchant navy and not in the Royal Navy. And certainly Oliver would be excited at the prospect of an actual admiral coming to visit them; likely, his brother would consider the admiral the more important of the two guests, ignoring the Chairman in favour of his associate without a second thought. But the purpose of Marmaduke’s invitation was to discuss business, to invest further in the company and thus be in a position to gain more wealth from its success—which had been remarkable in recent years, and Marmaduke saw no reason to suspect that the Company would do anything other than continue to grow in the future. The admiral was not strictly necessary to any such discussion, as it was the Chairman’s knowledge of his own company that Marmaduke would be depending on. He trusted that Lord Beckett would not lie to him about the opportunities for investment; and if the man did, there was a very simple solution—Marmaduke would withdraw every single one of his shares from the Company, forcing it to repay him their worth at once. Since half a million guineas was simply what the interest on them brought in, it would be a huge blow, possibly even a crippling one, to the liquid funds of the company. Not that Marmaduke expected that Lord Beckett would lie to him; the man had to be aware of that very possibility. He thought that they would very likely have a cordial chat, where Lord Beckett would tell him discreetly where the Company most needed ready funding, and Marmaduke would just as discreetly agree to supply it, in exchange for a percentage of profits, the guarantee that he could withdraw his support if he needed the funding himself in the future and be reimbursed for it, and the quiet acknowledgement that each would support the other if it was ever necessary. For this, he did not need to meet with the admiral as well as the Chairman. And since Oliver’s excitement might very well eclipse any possibility of a business discussion with Lord Beckett, it was probably best not to include the man. If the admiral had been ‘Admiral Lord Hamilton’, Marmaduke might have thought otherwise, since there was always benefit in meeting another Lord and making the necessary contacts to expand his power and influence, but the fellow was only ‘Admiral Sir Hamilton.’ While knights were probably very honourable men and useful in their own regard, they were not strictly necessary to know to raise yourself above your peers. But then again, the admiral was in charge of the merchant navy, which was the force that protected the Indiamen on their journeys; well, them and hired English privateers. Perhaps he would have even more current information to impart, advice about where not to invest because trouble at sea was preventing growth, or because there was strife on land and a supply of trade goods was threatened. So Marmaduke decided that he would cover all his bases in replying to the Chairman. “Perhaps it might be best for us to converse without the distraction that the admiral might afford,” Marmaduke suggested, letting his eyes move ever so slightly in the direction of Oliver to indicate what he meant. “But if there should be further business to discuss, or if you think there might be advantage in hearing the admiral’s opinion and advice as well, I am certain that you and Sir Hamilton would be most welcome to return in two days’ time.” |
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| Oliver Somerset | 23 Nov 2007, 07:10 PM Post #13 |
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Oliver was quite disappointed when Beckett did not see his face; he decided he would have to go to further efforts later on. Not right now, of course, because Marmaduke would see and then he’d be angry about it, but whenever Beckett came to visit them that would be a good time. Meanwhile, his mouth began increasingly to turn down about the corners in a clear expression of disapproval as he waited for his brother to finish talking to Beckett. Then he stiffened just a bit in the saddle as Beckett dropped a little surprise into the mix. Admiral Sir Hamilton? Just the word ‘Admiral’ made his mood perk up a bit, and Oliver let go of his resentment for a few moments to consider this news. He didn’t know any Admiral Hamiltons; Admiral Heyworth was the Admiral in Kingston. So probably Admiral Sir Hamilton was off active service and on half-pay? The idea of a merchant fleet wasn’t one that Oliver had ever considered, so he assumed that Hamilton had to be in the Royal Navy. And Sir…he wasn’t Order of the Garter, or Order of the Thistle, because Oliver knew all of those names. Even if he couldn’t recite them off of the top of his head, he knew Hamilton wasn’t one of them. So he had to be a Knight of the Order of the Bath. That was a high honour even if it wasn’t as good as the Garter or the Thistle. That was much better than having Beckett come over. He was about to suggest that perhaps just Admiral Sir Hamilton could attend in two evenings’ time, and Beckett could go and boil his head with his schedule, but Oliver knew that he’d better not say that. Instead he counted on Marmaduke agreeing with him and saying it for him. But unfortunately, Marmaduke didn’t; as soon as Oliver had worked out what his brother meant with “Perhaps it might be best for us to converse without the distraction that the admiral might afford,” his expression dropped again. How extremely boring this evening would be. And he knew, despite his earlier dissenting plans, that he’d really have to be polite, even if Beckett was arrogant and a liar. “I am certain that you and Sir Hamilton would be most welcome to return in two days’ time” helped offer a little more hope – even if it meant Beckett coming back again, Oliver would still like to meet the Admiral – but he was pretty sure that Beckett wouldn’t want to anyways. Even if he wasn’t going to be able to meet Admiral Sir Hamilton, though, he wanted to find out a little bit more about him. So he kicked Lydia forwards just a couple of steps and spoke to Mercer in an undertone. Mercer looked much nastier than Beckett did, but since Marmaduke was talking to Beckett, Oliver couldn’t address Beckett. He was forced to ask Mercer, unless he wanted to ask one of the marine escort. Oliver’s voice was reasonably polite, if perhaps audibly a little dissatisfied and maybe slightly apprehensive as well. “Where does Hamilton fly his flag, Mr Mercer?” he inquired, “and what colour is his ensign, or does he still fly it?" Oliver supposed that Hamilton could also be a Port Admiral, but anyways he'd find out in a little bit. |
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4:08 AM Jul 30
