With the Midshipmen, 18th May

"And then there's sisters," said Peter, who had four of them. He knew better than to watch Simon's face and hope to read anything there, so he looked across at Slater. "Do you have sisters?" he asked, sorting the cards.

He nodded, studying his cards thoughtfully. "Just one, but she has her own way with our parents. The picture of perfection, Mama calls her."

Peter grinned. "I don't think my mama has ever said that about any of us. She called my sister Dora a primping miss. And Papa once said that Jack had a good mind, if he would use it. But I know they are proud of Charles, and all of us, really." He stopped and blushed.

"You have a nice home, Peter," Simon said simply, rearranging his cards. "And I'd like to meet your sisters, just to see what a sister is like. I've not got any, you see," he explained to Slater.

"Sisters can be a blessing," Slater allowed. "But when they are older, it's hard to be on good terms."

Simon shrugged again - he knew nothing about it after all - and watched as Slater, being to the left of Yates as the dealer, put down his card, and then carefully selected one of his own.

Peter frowned. He thought he was on good terms with Dora, but then - "It depends on the sister. And she isn't the eldest of us. But Simon would like the younger ones - Lydia, or Sophy ... She must be ten now, the same age as you."

Simon stiffened a little. He was eleven in fact, but to hold the slip against Peter after he had agreed to play with them would be unkind; and he supposed it did not matter exactly what his age was at the moment. He'd mention it some other time.

"There weren't many girls around at home at all," he commented instead. "Except the maids, but they were all far older than me, and I couldn't talk to them anyway."

[OOC: Sorry about the age slip - I changed it to eleven, as I forgot the old NPC profile said twelve, to compromise a little. I forgot to mention it. ]

"There were girls around the village, many of our own age. We were always warned to be on our best behaviour around them," Slater said, studying his cards again. "The maids were interesting creatures, though. Never said a word to us unless we had done something improper."

"It was always the housekeeper that caught me," Simon said. "Not that I ever did much wrong," he added hurriedly. "But she always seemed to find me at the wrong time."

"Anyone would catch us - from the verger to the potboy at the inn. Just wait until your father hears about this." Peter grinned. "But Papa usually understood, why it was... Women don't always understand," he commisserated with Simon.

"I know," Simon nodded viggorously. "I mean, I always took my shoes off before I came in whenever I got muddy, and came in the back way so's not to get the carpets dirty; but she always gave me a hiding."

And even when on the times he had tried to explain that the mud wasn't his fault - that he'd been pushed into it - she would not spare a moment for reason. It all rather added up to give him a dim view of the female sex.

All of that was true. Slater nodded in agreement and added, "Housekeepers always do seem to be quite formidable, don't they?"

Peter could not imagine being given a hiding by anyone other than his father - to leave that to someone else seemed odd. But then poor Simon had lost his parents. He had been very lucky, he knew. They might not had a housekeeper, only a cook, and a couple of maids, and a man for the garden, but he had had his family.

"Did your grandfather ever punish you?" he asked. He had finished sorting the cards again, and selected one to lay on the others.

Simon hesitated before answering, shifting awkwardly.

"Not himself," he said eventually. "He only ever spoke sharply to me or told me why I had been bad when I had been. Most of the time he ignored me, except dinner. If he thought there was any need for a punishment he let the housekeeper or the footman deal with it. Usually it was going without dinner."

Peter grimaced. In some ways, his parents ignored him - but never coldly, merely allowing the children to do their own things, content to know that they would look after each other, and the parish would keep an eye on all of them. The girls were less free, but even so...

"That's rough," he said eventually, having pretended to study his cards again. "I ... I suppose it comes of being an admiral, and having others to do everything for you. Will we be like that, when we're admirals." His mouth widened in a smile. "You do intend to be an admiral, don't you?"

Simon's eyes opened wide at that. Becoming a lieutenant seemed so far off, he had not even thought about being an admiral.

"I... I don't know," he admitted. "I thought of being a captain one day, maybe; but an admiral... I don't know."

More specifically he doubted that he would have the ability to become an admiral. He was not very clever, he had been told that and he was certain that it was true, and to be captains and admirals one needed to be clever.

"But if I did become an admiral I certainly wouldn't be like him!" He shook his head emphatically at that. "Definitely not! For one I would do more than sit in a library and study all day. I wouldn't be a boring admiral."

Peter frowned. "Maybe your grandfather wasn't a boring admiral when he was younger - when he was at sea. He might have had a very exciting life as a Captain - or as a Commander... Is he studying anything in particular? Writing a history of his time in the Navy? Or a Life of Nelson?"

Simon did not really know what his grandfather had done as a young captain (that he could once have been a young anything was difficult enough to believe), nor did he know what exactly he was reading about in his study.

"He does more reading than writing," he replied, studying the cards on the table and already beginning to sense a victory. "I have seen him writing, though I do not know what about; it just might be business papers. He has stocks and shares somewhere, along with tenants and a bit of land."

Peter watched Simon's face. He was still young enough not to be able to totally hide his emotions, and it looked as if once again Simon was going to win. Nothing, not even talking about his grandfather, could distract him.

"My papa writes sermons, and letters to friends - but he does read in the evenings. Sometimes it's sermons, or such dry stuff, but not always. And if people will write books, they must expect others to read them."

"Sermons?" Fletcher looked up from his cards. "I didn't realise your father was a reverand."

"He is the rector of All Saints' in Heythram, Yorkshire," said Peter. "It is not as exciting as being an Admiral in the Royal Navy, but it does not take you away from home."