The Virtuous Feats of the Indomitable Miss Trafalgar and the Erudite Lady Boone Read online

  The Virtuous Feats of the Indomitable Miss Trafalgar and the Erudite Lady Boone

  Geonn Cannon

  Supposed Crimes LLC, Matthews, NC

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright 2015 Geonn Cannon

  Published in the United States

  ISBN: 978-1-938108-77-8

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Prologue

  1899

  Two boys sat on the divan in the Boone family parlor, spines straight and hats resting properly underneath folded hands. Theodore Weeks, Esquire, and William Anderson the Second smiled politely and nodded as they waited for the girls they had called upon to arrive. Mary and Olive, the eldest of the Boone girls, were upstairs preparing for their dates that evening. Elmer, the family’s footman, waited by the door to chaperone the happy couples. Clara Boone, matriarch, smiled as she interrogated the boys, never giving them cause to believe she was seeking a reason to send them away. It appeared that they were ‘suitable suitors’, as her husband Bernard was wont to say, and she was extraordinarily pleased at the prospect of their girls finding happiness.

  The calm of the moment was shattered by a sudden clamoring on the front porch. Clara Boone started at the ruckus but she composed herself before leveling a cool look at the footman. The set of his lips revealed he shared her irritation, and that he knew as well as she did who was responsible. He reached for the door handle to step outside, but the door flew open and the perpetrator swept inside like a small and surefooted wild animal. He was forced to take a step back so as not to get tail over teakettle as the ruffian dashed to the stairs.

  Clara shot to her feet and bellowed, “Dorothy Boone!”

  The whippet thin child froze where she stood. Her shirt, an inheritance from her older brother Bernard, was untucked and smeared with dirt and grass stains. The bright red hair their maid had spent so long braiding that morning was a maelstrom around her head. She had a smattering of freckles across her brow and the bridge of her nose, but a stranger would never be able to tell due to the mud smeared there. Most offensive, however, was the girl’s lack of shoes and the trousers - also Bernie’s - that were rolled up tight above her bare knees.

  “What...” Clara looked her youngest child up and down. It seemed to be the only word she was capable of producing, so she repeated it. “What...”

  Dorothy drew herself up to her full height, shoulders back and chin up. “Fierce creatures, mum. I’ve dispatched ‘um.”

  Her mother bristled, her eyes flashing anger at the improper speech. “Young lady...”

  She was cut off by a second rude arrival, a small orange creature that bumped the ajar door and flashed up the stairs almost too quickly to see. Dorothy twisted to watch the cat and already forgetting her mother’s ire - or more likely deducing that she couldn’t get into deeper trouble than she was already in - and pounded barefoot up the stairs in hot pursuit. There was a screech and a yowl from the second floor, a flurry of screams from the older girls who had apparently gotten in the way, and then a door slammed.

  Clara, flustered, watched as the maid hurried upstairs to try and put a lid on the tempest in their teapot. The footman straightened his vest and looked at her, and then they both looked at the smears of mud that now marred their fine entryway. Crimson flooded Clara’s cheeks as she turned back to the boys and forced a smile.

  “That... was... our youngest daughter. Dorothy.” She smoothed her hands over the front of her dress and took a seat. “I assure you, Mary and Olive are quite docile in comparison to her.”

  The boys smiled, but shared a sidelong glance with one another. Both were wise enough to leave their mutual thought unspoken, that sometimes docile was nowhere near as fun as unpredictable.

  #

  Dorothy’s erstwhile nemesis, an orange shorthair named Jasper, was curled at the foot of her bed fast asleep by the time Grandmother Eula arrived that evening. Dorothy had been scrubbed clean and banished to her attic bedroom to await her punishment. She didn’t mind missing dinner as she’d stashed a loaf of bread in her toy chest a few days earlier, and she welcomed the reprieve from socialization to spend more time with her books. She was dressed for bed when Eula knocked on the door and slipped inside. The older woman was Dorothy’s hero. Mysterious and jovial, quick with a smile or a quip. She lived in London and seemed more amused by Dorothy’s antics than most adults were.

  “I hear someone was a bit rambunctious today,” the older woman said with a conspiratorial smile. “Your mother said something about fierce creatures?”

  Dorothy was seated on the floor in front of her bed, legs folded in front of her. She closed the book and puffed out her bottom lip. “I didn’t mean to cause a fuss.”

  Eula walked to the window seat and eased herself down. She patted the cushion and Dorothy got up to join her. Jasper opened his eyes to see what all the movement was about, then twisted his head upside down and went back to sleep. Dorothy put her elbows on her knees and pushed at her cheeks with both fists. Her grandmother patted the top of her head and smiled down at her.

  “I see you’re still reading the books I got you.”

  Dorothy immediately perked up. “They’re amazing. I can’t believe all the other worlds buried under this one. Thousands and thousands of years of history and we’re just looking at one tiny sliver of it. All these people who ruled the entire world and we don’t know any of them. Ozymandias.”

  Eula and Dorothy intoned together: “‘Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’”

  Eula laughed. “And one day our world will be dust, and some rowdy little girl will read about it when she’s supposed to be getting punished. There are whole worlds out there waiting to be uncovered. Forgotten worlds to be dug up. Treasures to be gained, monsters to be vanquished. They’ll wait until you’re old enough to go find them yourself. Don’t be in such a hurry to grow up, dear, and don’t antagonize your parents with your pretendings. You’ll need mummy and daddy to finance your real adventures.” She tapped the side of her nose and winked.

  Dorothy smiled. She threw her arms around her grandmother in a tight hug. “Thank you, Grandmother Eula.”

  “Of course, dear. Now your mother told me you were sent to bed without supper. That is only fair, I suppose. I hope you can survive your hunger until breakfast. Your mother made me promise I would not undercut her punishment.” She reached into her bag and produced an apple, a banana, and a block of cheese. She tucked them under a pillow and shared a secret smile with her granddaughter. She kissed Dorothy on the forehead and patted her arm.

  “Be good, Dorothy. For your mother’s sake. And if you can’t, be bad cleverly.”

  “I’ll try, Grandmother.”

  When the older woman was gone, Dorothy retrieved the cheese and went to her bed to share some of it with Jasper.

  #

  Dorothy found balance on the top strut of the fence, barefooted so her toes could curl around the wood as she brought up her sword. The weapon was thick at the bottom to afford her a grip but tapered near the end to cause maximum damage. She thrust it at an invisible enemy and carefully advanced, sneering as she swayed back and forth to keep from falling. Below her Jasper hunted small creatures in the tall grass that marked the edge of their property. When he caught something, she congratulated him with a bellowing, “Well done, Sancho!” and declare
d a victory for their quest.

  Out in the fields she recreated stories she read in books. Her parents had bought dozens of volumes to make the library look impressive for guests. As far as Dorothy knew she was the only one who bothered reading any of them. Once she had exhausted their shelves, her grandmother began bringing her new volumes from London. Her sisters rolled their eyes at her whenever they spotted a book tucked under her arm, Dorothy found comfort hunting giants with Don Quixote or exploring distant lands with Lemuel Gulliver. When she discussed the books with her grandmother, she complained that only the men got to go out and have adventures while the women were stuck at home.

  “That’s because the men do all the writing and make themselves the heroes,” Eula said. “While the women are out having real-life adventures.”

  She showed Eula her sword-fighting skills, and the older woman surprised her by offering pointers. Dorothy watched with wide eyes and smiled when the demonstration was over.

  “Where did you learn that?”

  “I had a life before I settled down and started my family, you know.”

  Dorothy grew into a lanky and awkward young woman while her grandmother trained her to be more poised and graceful. They told Dorothy’s parents they were meeting for dancing lessons, and Dorothy was surprised how similar dancing was to swordplay. She found that she could now hold her own at the balls her mother insisted she attend, and she found herself becoming stronger as an added incentive.

  Time marched on. Bernard, the eldest child, began training to follow in his father’s footsteps and learn the family business. A banker proposed to Mary and they vanished to start their own family. Olive soon followed, and her mother’s matchmaking attention focused on Hilda. Dorothy, meanwhile, fast growing into a young woman herself, insisted on spending her time exploring the grounds. She drew maps of their acres, transforming the apple tree at one corner into a pirate cove. The cottontail rabbit’s hole was the entrance to a den of thieves. She began wandering further, strapping an old broom handle to her belt to act as a sword, with Jasper trailing along to destroy any mice or insects that might attack her.

  When she was fifteen her grandmother gave her an archery set. Dorothy kept Jasper far away from the range until she was confident with her skills, then she trained him to retrieve the arrows from the target. The feathered tips seemed to make him feel as if he was dismembering some sort of beast, and the arrows were always triumphantly left at her feet with fresh chew marks on their shafts. She alternated between training with her sword and her arrows until the muscles in her arms and back ached so badly she could barely get home.

  One afternoon she was returning from her target practice with sweat dripping from her brow and grass stains on her bare feet. She trekked around to the back door in the hopes of avoiding her mother before she had a chance to wash up. If she could get into some clean clothes before their paths crossed she could avoid the lecture about how important it was to be ladylike. She was crossing the back porch when she passed the study window. She could heard her father’s voice muffled by the glass but still loud enough to be heard. She slowed, then stopped completely when she heard what was being said.

  “Hilda should have known better. We raised her better than that.”

  “There’s no point in arguing about it now,” her mother replied. “We’ll send her to stay with my cousin Rebecca for a few months, and then the child can be placed with a good family. Have you spoken to the boy’s parents?”

  “I’m certain they’ll convince him to do the right thing. It’s unfortunate. He’s hardly the sort we would have chosen.”

  Her mother snorted quietly. “He would never even have been in the running if I had my druthers. Honestly, what was the girl thinking? Sabotaging her future this way?”

  Dorothy’s skin had grown clammy. Hilda was pregnant. As bad as that might be for Hilda, it was even worse for Dorothy. If Hilda was going to be sent away then nothing stood between her and the matchmaking her mother certainly had in store. There would be boys, dinners, courtship. She felt her bile rising in her throat and dropped the quiver she had forgotten was in her hand. The noise startled Jasper and he leapt up onto the windowsill.

  “What in blazes? Jasper?”

  She turned and ran before her parents could make the connection between the cat’s appearance and her eavesdropping. She ran, certain they were pursuing her with a veil in one hand and a ring in the other. She didn’t even know why the thought of marriage worried her so, only that it brought to mind images of shackles and iron bars. The independence she enjoyed, currently tolerated by her parents, would be quickly snuffed by a husband who no doubt would have thoughts of an obedient chef and baby-making machine. As she ran, she wept hard enough that she couldn’t see the road. Eventually she realized she would never be able to run all the way to her grandmother’s house, so she turned back and walked slowly home as if it was a death march.

  Her parents were waiting for her when she returned. “Look at you,” her mother said as soon as the door closed behind her. Dorothy stood in the foyer, hands behind her back, waiting out the perusal and awaiting the sure to be harsh judgment. “I can’t imagine the size of the dowry we’ll have to offer to get a man to agree to marry such a mess.”

  Dorothy, who thought she’d emptied her eyes at the thought of marriage, felt fresh tears popping up at the implication she was unwanted.

  “May I go upstairs?”

  “By all means. Take a bath and put on proper clothes.”

  Dorothy went upstairs and stripped out of her clothes. She filled the bath and sunk down in the water until it was lapping at her lips. Her books remained untouched next to the tub untouched because she couldn’t bear to be with her true friends at the moment. She stared unseeing at the tile wall in front of her, letting her hands float weightlessly in the water. She brought them up above the surface and looked at the small scrapes and callouses she’d formed while learning how to swordfight, and a smile spread across her face as she formed an idea.

  One week later, her first suitor arrived. The footman announced Frederick Carney and Dorothy surprised the entire household by eagerly accepting his visit. He waited in the parlor with Carla while Dorothy did her hair and makeup, dressed in her finest outfit, and pranced downstairs to greet him. Carla smiled with genuine relief when she saw her youngest daughter dressed properly for the occasion. Her father was also present, and he smiled as Dorothy entered the room looking like a young lady for a change.

  Frederick was tall and ginger, with a weak chin and a bulbous nose that made him look like a weathervane wrapped in a tailored suit.

  “Good morning, Lady Boone.” The tremor in his voice was almost adorable. “With your mother’s permission, I would like to take you out to a picnic. Then perhaps a stroll on my parents’ estate.”

  Dorothy had her hands clasped behind her back and spoke in her most placating tone. “Why, that sounds like a lovely plan to while away an afternoon, Mr. Carney.”

  Carla’s eyes sparkled with surprise. She was no doubt wondering who this delicate flower was and what she’d done with her hellion. “Fantastic! If you’d like to leave at once--”

  Dorothy held up a hand. “On one provision, of course. I won’t be courted by any man who fails to meet one requirement.” Her parents exchanged worried looks before she continued. “I will not agree to any excursion with a man who cannot best me in a duel.”

  Her father snapped, “For heaven’s sake, Dorothy!”

  She looked at him without emotion. “Papa, would you marry me to a man who couldn’t defeat a woman in a test of strength?”

  He started to respond but then realized the trap she had set. He clamped his jaw shut and stared at her with barely disguised fury. Frederick Carney, on the other hand, looked as if he was about to soil his trousers.

  The poor boy looked at the elder Boones for assistance. “I can’t... I can’t fight a woman.”

  Dorothy smiled. “Ah, well. A forfeit, then. A shame. Elme
r will show you out.”

  Frederick quickly retreated from the parlor. Dorothy watched him go, unable to resist a soft chuckle at her victory. She turned forward just before her mother’s hand smacked her in the cheek. She recoiled in shock and took a step back. Her right hand balled into a fist but she fortunately managed to stop her initial reflex to strike back.

  “I hope you are very satisfied.” Her chin trembled, her eyes wide and wet with tears. “Do you believe this is a game, Dorothy? We are only trying to arrange for your future, and your attempts at self-sabotage have me at wits end.”

  “Then stop,” Dorothy said. “Stop trying to arrange my life for me. I’m not Mary or Olive or Hilda. I will find my own way.”

  “Then you will not find it here. One way or another, you are leaving this house.” She turned and walked away. After locking eyes with his youngest daughter for a moment, her father sighed heavily and followed his wife out.

  Dorothy watched them go, then sank onto the divan to try to enjoy her victory.

  #

  The moment Eula heard about the eviction, she set out for the Boone estate. Dorothy could hear the argument echoing up the stairs. Several times her father shouted, “But mother--” only to have her shut him down before he could get another word out. Dorothy packed her bags, along with essential books from the library that she knew her parents would never miss, and waited. She would have been willing to leave Jasper behind - he was a mouser and needed the acres of the estate to roam, after all, but he climbed into her bag thrice despite her attempts to keep him away. She sighed and scratched between his ears.

  “Fine. I suppose I shall leave this house tied to a man after all.”

  She was standing at the head of the stairs when she heard her grandmother storm out. Dorothy placed a wide-brimmed hat on her head, her brother’s, but one he would never miss - and marched down the stairs after her. She knew her parents were watching from the parlor but she refused to give them the satisfaction of a final glance. They wanted her gone, and they were prepared to ignore her wishes to make it happen. She was simply granting their wish.