I had nightmares about that night for years afterwards. I often woke up, staring into the darkness of the bedroom, shouting the name of Willie Kemp until my husband, your dear, dear great grandfather, would stir, mutter softly and usually tell me to go back to sleep. Sometimes, though, he would sit up beside me and hold me tight and offer comfort and a friendly ear as I remembered the terrors of that night.
But to continue with my tale…
Crying did not help, of course, and I soon had to leave Louise lying a blonde heap on the deck and run around at the orders of the tyrannical Mr. Kemp. I did not like to neglect my troublesome cousin, but what would you do? If I continued to caress her, Mary would have run afoul of Fidra, or turned turtle, or blown up, or met some other nautical fate, so
