Showell Styles
MIDSHIPMAN QUINN
Midshipman Quinn ~ 1956 Showell Styles
ISBN 1-883937-45-0
Library of Congress Catalog Number: 99-66605
Bethlehem Books . Ignatius Press
10194 Garfield Street South
Bathgate, ND 58216
Chapter ONE
Shore Pirates
THE SMELL FOUND its way along the passages of Linton Abbott Rectory and into the study where the Reverend Theophilus Quinn was composing a sermon. The Reverend Theophilus frowned, sniffed, and addressed himself angrily to the marble bust of his second cousin, Mr. William Pitt the Prime Minister, that stood on the mantelpiece.
"Drat that brat!" said the Reverend Theophilus.
The fact that his exclamation sounded like part of a child's spelling-book made him angrier still. He got up from his desk, a large pompous man in a white wig and black knee-breeches, and tugged the bell-rope that hung in a corner of the study. In a few moments a spotless frilled cap poked itself into the room and the plump body of Mrs. Cattermole the housekeeper followed it. The Rector of Linton Abbott, who had been pacing up and down the study, turned to face her.
"Mrs. Cattermole," he observed solemnly, "there is a smell in this house. I fancy-"
"A stink I'd call it, begging your pardon!" interrupted the housekeeper sharply. "It's that lad again, I'll warrant-your nephew, sir. And, sir, I'm the camel!"
"The-the camel, Mrs. Cattermole?" repeated the Rector, raising one elegant white hand in surprise.
Mrs. Cattermole twisted her hands excitedly in her apron.
"The camel as the last straw broke the back of, sir!" she asserted loudly. "Ever since your poor brother Mr. Charles's boy came to live here we've had naught but noises and stinks and contraptions. There's that monster Bonaparte waiting on t' other side of the Channel to come across and murder us all in our beds, but I declare young Master Septimus is worse than the French!"
"Yes, yes, Mrs. Cattermole," nodded the Reverend Theophilus, waving his hands rather helplessly. "I-ah-rang for you to ask you to go up to Master Septimus's room and request him-"
But Mrs. Cattermole was determined to have her say now that she had started.
"Worse, I said, and I meant worse!" she continued. "We've got our brave Nelson to deal with Napoleon and his French rascals, but who's to deal with Septimus Quinn, I'd like to know? I've just got all my rooms washed down and smelling sweet of lavender, and now comes a nasty stink like-"
"Allow me to speak, ma'am, if you please!" The Rector at last succeeded in stemming the flood of words. "You ask who is to - ah - deal with Master Septimus. That problem, Mrs. Cattermole, will shortly be solved - very shortly."
"And glad to hear it I am, sir," said the housekeeper, nodding her frilled cap violently. "Twenty years I've kept house for you, and I've no wish to leave, I assure you. But to stay here with Master Septimus up to tricks of all sorts, not that he's a bad boy, only queer-like in his ways, having no brothers or sisters I dare say it is - well, he's too much to look after, and that's gospel, sir."
The Rector seated himself somewhat wearily at his desk.
"When my brother died last year leaving his only son parentless, Mrs. Cattermole," he said, "arrangements had already been made for the boy's future. I merely undertook to give him a home until such time as those arrangements came into effect. I have been expecting, for some days now, the arrival of a certain person who will put an end to my responsibilities, and to your - ah-troubles, as far as Master Septimus is concerned."
"Indeed, sir." Mrs. Cattermole looked at him sharply and her voice took on a different tone. "You don't mean as you've sent for a tutor, sir, or some harsh personage to look after that poor lamb? I'm sure poor dear Master Septimus means no harm! Just forget my tantrums, sir, and don't bring into this house any-"
"No, no, no, Mrs. Cattermole!" broke in the Reverend Theophilus distractedly. "You mistake my meaning. The person I expect is merely the messenger who will bring the order for Master Septimus to-"
Slam-bang!
A muffled double report cut him short. "Mercy on us-cannon!" cried Mrs. Cattermole.
“Drat him!" cried the Reverend Theophilus loudly, springing to his feet and hurrying out of the room.
The housekeeper, her round face expressing the shock she felt at hearing the Rector use such a word, followed him upstairs. The acrid smell grew stronger as they climbed, and was particularly strong on the landing. In fact, some wisps of bluish smoke, which seemed to be the cause of the smell, were curling out from under a door at the head of the stairs. There was a neat notice pinned to the door. It said:
BUSY NOCK TWICE
The Rector's impulse was to burst into the room at once, but experience of his nephew's arrangements made him more prudent. He "no eked" twice, urgently. At once the door opened as though by some magic agency, letting out a concentrated waft of the smell which had previously annoyed them. The Reverend Theophilus clapped his handkerchief over his nose.
"Septibus!" he roared. "Cub here ibbediately!"
A small figure standing by a littered table at the far end of the room turned calmly at the words, loosing the cord which by a neat arrangement of pulleys and loops had released the catch of the door.
"Yes, Uncle," said Septimus Quinn obediently.
But it was typical of him that he went first to the window and
threw it wide open to allow the fumes to escape. He was fifteen years of age but looked less because of his lack of height. He wore a pair of large steel-rimmed spectacles and his black hair was cut shorter than was the fashion of 1803, but the general effect of neatness was spoiled by a large black smudge which covered most of the lower half of his small pale face.
"Are you killed, my lamb?" demanded Mrs. Cattermole shrilly as he approached.
"Pray don't distress yourself, ma' am," returned Septimus gravely. "I am alive."
"And what was the cause of that-ah-explosion?" inquired the Rector sternly.
Septimus unhooked his spectacles and turned to his uncle with the air of a lecturer explaining something simply for the benefit of his audience.
"A little experiment, sir," he replied courteously. "It had occurred to me that if the substance known as Potassium Chlorate were to be contained in some small vessel with the right quantity of Sulphur, and the compound impacted-that is to say, if I hit it a pretty fair whack with a pestle - the result would be an expl-"
"Enough!" thundered the Reverend Theophilus, pointing to a door on the landing. "You will wash your face, sir, and then come to my study. I wish to have a talk with you."
Three minutes later Septimus Quinn presented himself in his uncle's study. He was washed and tidy but otherwise not perceptibly subdued. Indeed, as Mrs. Cattermole had discovered, it was practically impossible to subdue Septimus Quinn. The only sign that he was anticipating trouble was the fact that he was still wearing his steel-rimmed spectacles. Septimus had no real need of spectacles in the ordinary way, and wore them chiefly for reading or close work; he was exceptionally longsighted, and could follow the lofty flight of a skylark long after most people had lost sight of it. But he had a habit of carrying them about with him and putting them on whenever he was confronted with a problem. He said it helped him to think better.
The Reverend Theophilus was annoyed by this habit; it made his nephew look too old and wise for his years.
"Take those things off, boy," he snapped irritably, "and sit down there. "