Cousin Aurelia. “We’ll put it back on the market and salvage whatever we can.”
“No, we won’t,” Charles said firmly. “And it’s not just a summer resort. We’re pulling up stakes to live there all year round.”
Betty gasped.
Cousin Aurelia straightened up, bristling.
“I have made up my mind,” Charles went on. “I have done a lot of serious thinking.” He pointed at the heavily framed neo-daguerreotype portraits on the walls. “Our ancestors rediscovered the only true principles, those of the great Nineteenth Century. They brought the Second Victorian Age into being. Civilization reached its peak, its full flowering. But now all is crumbling before the poisonous onslaught of modernism. We who have not been corrupted must seek out a refuge. That, Cousin, is why I bought Sugar Plum.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Cousin Aurelia. “There may be changes everywhere else, but never in Boston.”
“Ha!” Charles looked at his watch. “Solomon!” he called out.
The butler came bowing out of the DoItAll nook, where the servants stayed when they were switched off. He wore a swallowtail coat and knee-breeches, and had kinky white hair. Made to order, he was Cousin Aurelia’s idea.
“Yassuh, Marse Charles. Here Ah is.”
“Solomon,” ordered Charles, “tune in Watson Widgett.”
Betty paled, uttering a polite little scream.
“Are you mad?” cried Cousin Aurelia. “I’ve heard about him. I’ll not have that man in my home!”
Charles squared his shoulders. “Cousin, may I remind you that I am head of this house, and that we are Victorians? It’s high time you found out what’s going on. Solomon!”
“Yassuh.”
There was a click from the DoItAll, a brief flash of light and a figure appeared in their midst, a cheerful young man in loose trousers and shirt, without coat, waistcoat, cravat, or even a pair of suspenders. He was grinning at Cousin Aurelia.
“Boys and girls,” he was saying, “Wyoming has outlawed corsets! The folks in Siskiyou, California, have given women the vote! And listen to this. The Bikini swimsuit—just a wisp and a twist—is back on the market!” He winked loathsomely. “Yes, indeed, our prize fake Victorians, our second-hand stuffed shirts, are due for a fall. Here’s the best news today, from a cute little lady right here in old Boston.” He unfolded a paper. “Dear Watsy, When I first found your program, I was a real Mrs. Biedermeyer. Marriage was something we gentlewomen tried to endure while we knitted an anti-macassar. It wasn’t supposed to be fun. Then a friend tipped me off to your—”
At this point, Cousin Aurelia emitted a shriek, rolled her eyes and crumpled to the carpet.
Charles gestured and the commentator vanished with a click and a flash. Betty scurried out and returned with the smelling salts.
Presently, Cousin Aurelia regained her senses, shivered, and said, “It’s too awful for words. If it were not for Betty, I would surely have left long ago. As it is, I shall go where you go, to protect her, of course.”
Then she permitted Betty to help her to her feet and out of the room.
“Solomon!” Charles called loudly.
“Yassuh, Marse Charles.”
“Set the table for two,” Charles commanded. “I shall dial the dinner myself.”
He felt very adventurous and masterful. Dialing dinner without aid was fine training in self-reliance.
* * * *
Six weeks later, the three of them stood on the bridge of the space freighter Beautiful Joe, watching Sugar Plum as the vessel entered an orbit around it.
But Charles Edward Button didn’t feel at all masterful, or even adventurous.
They stood next to Possett, the skipper, a great, hairy man with gold teeth, a bad squint, and an air of gloomy cunning about him. After her first look at Possett, Cousin Aurelia had locked herself in her cabin, allowing no one but Betty to approach her, and threatening to subsist on the half-dozen cases of Dr. Stringfellow’s Vegetable Remedy she kept under her berth. Charles, however, had been sure that Possett’s heart was both kindly and chivalrous.
“Take those tall stories of his,” he said more than once. “Betty, they don’t mean a thing. Old spacedogs love to kid tenderfeet. Imagine trying to make me believe that it’s dangerous out here! And all that malarkey about Captain Burgee being a pirate or something!”
They stared at Sugar Plum, at its small polar ice caps, its seas, its continents greener than Earth’s, its wandering white clouds. Not many hours before, it had been only a dust mote, a pinpoint of light in the void. Now it filled half the sky. And suddenly Charles understood the immensities, the unspeakable stretches of space in which Boston had vanished.
Shivering, he wished he were home, stiffly safe in a curlicued chair, with Solomon dialing his dinner for him.
“Nice piece of property,” grunted Possett around his cigar. “Too bad about—” He broke off with a shrug.
“About what?” asked Charles, alarmed.
“I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes if Burgee comes around and finds you’d run off with his planet.”
“Burgee? He was lost out in space!”
“His kind don’t stay lost. Chances are he’s hiding out from the law. But it’s none of my business. Just thought I’d warn you.”
Charles laughed weakly. “You c-can’t frighten me. I’m sure there aren’t any pirates in space any more.”
Possett turned to his weasel-faced mate. “Loopy, call the New Texas spaceport. Get Mac on the screen.”
The mate nodded. He twiddled a dial and punched at a switch. The screen glowed. After some seconds, the face of a red-haired person appeared, looking rather disgusted.
“New Texas, New Texas,” came a voice. “I hear you, Beautiful Joe. What the hell do you want?”
“Dude aboard wants some info,” said Possett. “Wants to know what Burgee did for a living—Alexander Burgee. Also, are the coppers still trying to find him?”
The face frowned. “Possett, you know damn well Burgee was a pirate. You know he’s been listed as lost. Now quit wasting my time. New Texas out.”
The face vanished. The mate snickered nastily. And Charles just stood there gaping.
“A real pirate!” squeaked Cousin Aurelia. “Wh-what would he do? Would he kill us?”
“Might do anything. But—” eying her, Possett leered—“he’s like me. Likes ’em well fattened up. Lady, you needn’t worry.”
Cousin Aurelia paled. She started to sway. Then, perhaps recalling the uncarpeted deck, she recovered and looked haughty instead.
“I am going right back to my cabin,” she proclaimed, and stalked off the bridge.
“Cousin Aurelia is very genteel,” Betty snapped at the captain. “You had no right to insult her. Besides, she’s only twenty pounds overweight.”
“Don’t mind me. I go for her type.” Possett shook his head darkly and turned toward Charles. “Button, man to man, a back-country planet’s no place for the ladies. Look, I’ll take the thing off your hands. I can handle Burgee. Twelve thousand cold cash for your stuff and the deed, and I’ll throw in a lift to New Texas. There’s a liner from there.”
Charles thought of the comfortable Earth and was tempted. “But I paid thirty-five,” he protested uncertainly. “I mean, twelve is—”
“Take it or leave it. I’m trying to do you a favor.”