Текст книги "The King's Marauder"
Автор книги: Dewey Lambdin
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“Then, marry me!” Lewrie had blurted out. “Let’s wed, today!”
Christ! What’d I just say? he had thought.
That had made her weep, at long last.
“I have not had much luck with married life, Alan,” Lydia had said, lifting a mittened hand from her muff to wipe her eyes, with a rueful laugh. “I told you once, before you went off to the Bahamas, that I feared the risk to my heart too much to marry you, or anyone. And, remember what you told me, the night after we met at the palace, when you were knighted? In the Cocoa-Tree, I think it was … when I complained of being labelled a scandalous hussy, being pursued by men such as Georgey Hare, and dreading to be re-enslaved and ruled by a man?”
“I told you to forget it all, and enjoy your life,” Lewrie had recalled, vividly, and sorrowfully. “But…”
“Thank you for the offer, Alan, but I believe that I will follow that advice, and live my life,” Lydia had told him, reaching out to stroke his cheek in gratitude for his gesture. “I find it safer to be me, alone, with no more pretensions to so-called wedded bliss. Or, a pleasureable but sordid continuing amour, the sort expected of a woman as scandalous as me,” she’d said with another scoffing snort and a toss of her head.
“What’s next, a nunnery?” Lewrie had gawped, which had made her laugh out loud, crinkling her nose which Lewrie had always found to be endearing when she did so.
“Percy and Eudoxia will have many children, I fully expect,” she had said, “and I hope to be a doting aunt, as I am godmother to my old friends’ children. Life here in the country will be fulfilling, and comfortable.”
“And safe,” Lewrie had added, slumping in defeat.
“And safe,” Lydia had agreed. “Now. If you do not mind, Alan, I wish to go down to the stables, by myself, for a while. There is a mare that’s due her first foal, and a new litter of pups I’d like to look in on. I’ll see you at supper.” Then Lydia had walked away, a firm and industrious stride to her pace, leaving him stunned beyond belief.
He had stayed at Foxbrush a few hours more, discussing the matter with Eudoxia and Percy, who were as thunder-struck as he was, and pleading that if she was determined to live life her own way she would have the means to do so. Then Lewrie and Pettus had departed, taking lodgings in Reading for the night, rising early, and coaching back to Anglesgreen the next morning.
* * *
“Ah, Captain Lewrie!” Mr. Giles chummily barked as he entered the Common Rooms, making a bee-line for the fireplace and rubbing his cold hands. “Been to Admiralty, I see. How did it go?”
“Early days, sir,” Lewrie said, coming out of his dour reverie to find that his brandy glass was empty, perhaps had been for some time. “As uncomfortable as the Waiting Rooms are, I think I’ll only pop in once a week, and wait for a letter to come.”
“Quite right!” Giles declared with a firm nod. “Appearing anxious doesn’t work well in business, either. Gives the other fellow the upper hand, what?”
“Seen Showalter, yet, Mister Giles?” Lewrie asked, getting to his feet.
“Not yet, but he’ll be along, unless there’s a call for a division in Commons this afternoon,” Giles said, smiling almost angelically as he flipped the tails of his coat up and put his bottom close to the fireplace’s heat. “Aahh!”
“I thought to ask him where that symphony he liked was playing,” Lewrie said. “Perhaps the desk clerk knows, if Showalter’s runnin’ late. I’ll go change into mufti.”
“Lord, one hears so much more Hindoo slang hereabouts, these days,” Giles carped. “So many younger folk coming back nabobs, simply stiff with grand earnings. Must be a way to sell the Hindoos proper shoes … now there’d be a killing! Sandals … hah!”
“See you at supper, Mister Giles,” Lewrie said, departing for the stairs. He trooped up slowly, not due to any infirmity, but lost in gloomy thoughts which had arisen now and then since he’d departed Reading, and the Stangbourne estate.
What a hellish waste of a good woman, Lewrie ruefully thought; Givin’ up on London, and all her symphonies, plays, and such? Samuel Johnson said a body who’s tired o’ London is tired o’ life! No more love, no more pleasure, ever again? It’s like she’s been got at by Hannah More, or the bloody Baptists! It’ll be soup kitchens in the stews, and good works, next.
He had to question himself, though, on whether he had ever truly loved her in the permanent, ’til death did them part, sense. At best, he could confess to a powerful fondness, and dammit all … Lydia had never looked more lovely than she did when she rejected him! More desirable, more fetching … than if she had said yes to his proposal.
She rejected me! he gloomed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next fortnight passed most lazily for Lewrie, with rounds of shopping for a few new articles of uniform, and some additions to his civilian clothing, and social calls on people he knew and liked, some he knew but slightly distrusted, such as one of his old school chums who’d been expelled with him, Clotworthy Chute, his father at last, and people whom he thought might be useful, such as Peter Rushton’s brother, Harold, who held a position under the Secretary of State at War. One never could tell when Harold might give Admiralty a nudge.
His old steward, Aspinall, had made enough money off his books to buy into the publishing house which put them out, was now happily married, and was still keeping his mother and his sister, Rose, in a snug house of their own, retired from domestic service, and Lewrie had spent a pleasant afternoon with them.
He looked up the maker of his Christmas fowling piece, and his gunsmith shop, and ended up purchasing a brace of long-barrelled pistols in the same over-under configuration.
And, there were the music halls, the galleries which displayed new paintings and sculpture. He didn’t need to buy any, but looking was a good way to kill an afternoon. There were plays and farces in Covent Garden and Drury Lane theatres, and the public gardens where he could idly ogle young women after a supper on the town. He could hire a saddle horse and go cantering round St. James’s Park and Hyde Park on the rainless mornings. He could walk from one end of the Strand to the other, to keep his leg fit, and peer into the bow-window shop displays. And, after that fortnight, Lewrie was surprised to discover that the city’s delights were beginning to pall, as if he was growing tired of London, perhaps even tired of life?
He still made his weekly visits to Admiralty, and ran into Lt. Geoffrey Westcott a time or two, who had decided that a once-a-week call was to his advantage, too, which allowed them to have a decent dinner together before going their separate ways for another week.
* * *
“Off to Admiralty this morning, are you, sir?” Hoyle, the club manager, cheerfully asked as Lewrie got himself fitted out with his hat and boat cloak in the ante-room.
“If it’s Wednesday I must be, Mister Hoyle,” Lewrie japed back.
“All success to you, sir,” Hoyle rejoined. “Now, don’t forget that Mister Ludlow will be hosting card night this evening, with hot punch and sing-alongs.”
“Hmm, rather racy for the Madeira Club, ain’t it?” Lewrie asked with a brow up.
“To end at eleven, sir,” Hoyle said, “sharp, for the benefit of the older members, of course. It improves the attendance at the supper, and the sale of spirits,” he added with a sly look.
“Next ye know, we’ll be gamblin’ and lettin’ ladies in,” Lewrie speculated. “The new Cocoa-Tree, perhaps?”
“This club, sir?” Hoyle scoffed. “We’ll never be that woolly. Lewis, summon transport for Captain Lewrie, would you?”
* * *
Might be a nice way t’end the day, Lewrie thought as he alit from a hired one-horse coach and paid the driver; Pity I don’t have my penny-whistle with me. A few shillings fluttered on cards, take on some hot punch, and sleep in late, tomorrow. God knows, I’ve nothing better to do!
He suffered the cheery abuse from the tiler, chequed his hat and cloak, and looked up one of Secretary Marsden’s clerk to make his presence known, then searched the Waiting Room for Westcott.
“Here, sir,” Westcott said, waving him over. “I’ve managed to save you a seat, and today’s Gazette.”
“Mornin’, Geoffrey,” Lewrie said, sitting down. “And how are you, today?”
“Main-well, all considered, sir,” Westcott said with a pleased look and a brief flash of a toothy grin. “Topping, in point of fact.”
“One of our members, Ludlow … recall meeting him?” Lewrie said. “Doesn’t make things, but he’s big on the ’Change in the trade of leather goods, is hosting a card and punch party at my club this evening, and the supper will feature several game pies and a saddle of venison. Interested?”
“Oh, that sounds tempting, sir, but I fear I must beg off. I have other plans,” Westcott said with a grimace of disappointment to miss such a feast.
“Your landlady?” Lewrie teased.
“Ehm, no sir, not tonight,” Westcott cautiously admitted with a sly grin. “There’s a very fetching young seamstress I met when having some new shirts run up. Most … promising.”
“Just remember the Saturday mess toast, Geoffrey,” Lewrie cautioned. “Sweethearts and … landladies … may they never meet.”
“One in Southwark, t’other in the Borough,” Westcott quipped with a wink. “I’ve already read this half of the paper. Want it?”
They passed the next two hours comparing news stories and palavering their opinions, good or bad, on what they’d read. They went out for tea and some fresh air in the courtyard, then returned.
“Captain Sir Alan Lewrie?” one of Marsden’s clerks called out. “Is Captain Lewrie present?”
“I’m here!” Lewrie cried back, chiding himself for sounding too eager, and shooting to his feet as if stung.
“The First Secretary wishes to see you now, sir,” the clerk said.
“Wish me luck, Mister Westcott. We may be onto something good,” Lewrie muttered, then went to the bottom of the stairs to follow the clerk. The clerk opened the door to Marsden’s office and ushered him in.
“Good morning, sir,” Lewrie said to the First Secretary.
“Ah, good morning to you, Sir Alan,” Marsden said back, looking haggard and worn. He had been in the job seemingly forever, and the years had taken a toll. “Do sit, sir.”
“Thankee, sir,” Lewrie replied, plopping himself down.
“Ahh, hmm,” Marsden said with a long sigh. “I note that you are no longer employing a walking stick, Sir Alan?”
“Over the winter, sir, I’ve worked my way to complete health,” Lewrie told him. “I could dance a jig if you need proof of it.”
“No, no, that will not be necessary,” Mr. Marsden said with a brief chuckle. “I will take your word for it. It is well that you are fit and ready to return to service.”
“Avid t’do so, sir!” Lewrie assured him.
Marsden leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his chest in thought.
“Gad, what a disreputable business,” Marsden began. “Might you have read anything anent HMS Sapphire, Sir Alan?”
“No, sir,” Lewrie had to tell him, trying to recall the ship’s name, and what sort she might be. Must be a new frigate, he thought.
“She had just come out of the Chatham dockyards and a complete re-fit, and has only been back in commission for a little over seven months,” the Admiralty’s First Secretary began to explain, “and is at present anchored in the Great Nore to re-victual. Unfortunately…”
Mr. Marsden sat back forward to slump over his desk and worked his mouth as if he had just bit into something vile.
“In retrospect, her Captain, and her First Officer, turned out to be exceedingly poor choices,” he went on after a long sigh. “Both men are well qualified and highly experienced, but … they just would not, or could not, rub together. Perhaps it was some contretemps from their pasts, something personal, perhaps their families were at loggerheads, there’s no knowing, but … they have gone and shot one another in a duel!”
“Shot?” Lewrie exclaimed. He’d served under several superior officers whom he would have gladly shot or strangled, but only in his fantasies. “Her First Lieutenant challenged his own Captain to a duel? That’s a court-martial offence … like the leader of the Nore Mutiny, Parker, once challenged Captain Riou. A hangin’ offence if his Captain died.”
“No, ’twas the other way round,” Mr. Marsden sadly imparted. “Sapphire’s Captain was so wroth with her First Officer that he issued the challenge. He could have preferred charges for gross insubordination, or let the fellow ask for a transfer, but no. I name no names, but both gentlemen are known for being rash, intemperate men, of the strictest discipline and the touchiest senses of honour.”
“So, who swings for murder, then, sir?” Lewrie asked. “Duels ain’t kindly looked upon, any longer.”
It used to be that just any old place would do, a barn, an open field, or glade in a grove of trees, even the public gardens in London. Nowadays, though, gentlemen with especially hot grievances would have to coach to Scotland or Wales, sail to Ireland or someplace on the Continent so they could cross swords or blaze at each other, and avoid a criminal charge. “Respectability” had reared its ugly head, again!
“Neither!” Marsden scoffed. “The bloody damned fools only managed to wound each other, sufficient to put them flat on their backs for several weeks … depending upon whether sepsis sets in, and once on their feet, both shall face courts-martial, and the ends of their respective careers, do I have anything to say about it. And I do, so long as I hold this office.
“So, Captain Lewrie,” Marsden said, peering closely at him. “I have a ship in need of a Captain, and you are in need of a ship and an active commission. Will you take her on?”
“Aye, I will, sir,” Lewrie quickly assured him.
“Her Second Lieutenant is more than capable and could be advanced, and you may find that one of Sapphire’s Midshipmen could be made an Acting-Lieutenant for the nonce,” Mr. Marsden said, more jovially and making notes on a scrap of paper.
“Might I ask the date of her Second Officer’s commission, sir?” Lewrie enquired.
“Ehm … Lieutenant Harcourt is, ah … why?” Marsden paused in his search for that information.
“Might I put forward a man of my own choosing, sir? I know it is only granted to very senior officers, but…”
“Such an honour I believe your excellent previous service would allow, sir,” Mr. Marsden cautiously seemed to agree, “but, is the said officer immediately available, or might his transfer from his current posting cause too much delay…?” He lifted his hands and shoulders in perplexity.
“My choice, Mister Marsden, would be my former First Lieutenant from my last ship, Reliant, Mister Geoffrey Westcott,” Lewrie told him. “We’ve worked very well together, the last three years and more. And, as for his availability, he’s seated belowstairs in the Waiting Room seekin’ an appointment this very instant!”
“Oh, well!” the First Secretary exclaimed, perking up considerably. “That would be capital. If you vouch for his good qualitites, then that is good enough for me, and the Navy.”
“I did recommend him as more than due a command of his own, sir, but … bird in hand, all that?” Lewrie said with a smile.
“So, your Lieutenant Westcott would be amenable? Excellent!” Mr. Marsden said, beaming. “How soon might you imagine you could go aboard and take charge of her, sir?”
“Hmm … all my shipboard furnishings, and some men from my retinue are at my father’s country house down in Surrey, sir. I can get a letter off to them today, but I have no idea how long it will take them t’pack up and arrive at the Nore. Is there any urgency in getting Sapphire back to sea, sir?” Lewrie asked.
“Well, under these despicable circumstances, no,” Mr. Marsden said after a long moment with his head laid over to one side in deep thought. “She has not yet received fresh sailing orders. Most of her time in commission has been spent in three-month cruises in the North Sea and the Baltic approaches, but that could change. I expect that are you able to go aboard and read yourself in within the next fortnight, that might be sufficient. In the meantime, I will send orders down to Sheerness to announce the arrival of a new Captain and First Officer, and for her Second, Harcourt, to continue victualling, and keeping her crew exercised, ’til you arrive.”
“That’d be grand, sir!” Lewrie crowed, a tad too loud and eager.
“I will send your orders and active commission documents round your lodgings within a day or so,” Marsden told him, much relieved to have his problems solved. “Once in receipt, drop a note of hand by to pay for the fees.”
There goes better than fifty pounds! Lewrie thought. Just like the first time he’d been made “Post” and appointed into the Proteus frigate back in 1797, he’d always had the droll idea that the quickest way to command of a ship would be to turn up at Admiralty with a full purse, and throw money at someone! The patents of his knighthood and baronetcy had cost a gruesomely high sum, too! Every honour bestowed by HM Government had a high price, one way or another.
“Thank you, Mister Marsden,” Lewrie said, preparing to rise and depart. “I’ve spent too long on the ‘beach’, as has Westcott. Should I send him up straightaway, or have him wait ’til your calendar is…?”
“Oh, send him up,” Marsden said, with a genial chuckle. “Saves a stamp, or a messenger’s time hunting up his lodgings. And I thank you, Sir Alan. It’s damned good of you to take on Sapphire, though you’ve proved yourself a most accomplished frigate captain, and had a long run in that class. Seniority demands, though, that men move up and on, sooner or later.”
“Hey, sir?” Lewrie asked, wondering what Marsden was maundering about. Onward and upward, mine arse! he thought.
“Why, Sapphire’s a Fourth Rate, of the Antelope group. Quite modern, really,” Marsden said in gleeful praise, “re-fitted with iron knees, and metal fresh-water tanks. Last of her class built in 1792.”
“A two-decker fifty-gunner?” Lewrie replied, trying very hard not to start kicking furniture.
I’ve been had, by Christ! he fumed to himself; Is it too late t’beg off? Start limpin’, again?
“I did not mention that? How remiss of me,” Marsden said with genuine regret. “Been on the job too long, I suppose. Can’t say that I won’t miss the office, but one does get older, and it is about time for a younger man to take my place of the First Lord’s, Lord Mulgrave’s, and the Prime Minister’s, choice.”
“Oh, surely not, sir!” Lewrie exclaimed, feigning distress to hear that. “Won’t be the same with you gone.”
“Oh, tosh, Sir Alan,” Marsden pooh-poohed, “I only fear that it will be. I’ve found that Admiralty grinds on in the same old way, century to century, ha ha! Again, sir, thank you for taking on Sapphire, and I wish you all success in your new command.”
“Thank you, sir, and good day,” Lewrie replied, shaking the old fellow by the hand, then heading out.
She’s a ship, an active commission, and full pay, Lewrie forced himself to think; Plaster “gladsome” on yer phyz, ye gullible clown, and look pleased with her! Even if she does turn out t’be Tom Turdman’s barge at Dung Wharf!
He trotted down the stairs to the ground level and the crowd in the Waiting Room, looked towards Lt. Westcott, and smiled broader.
“Good news, sir?” Westcott asked, rising to come meet him.
“For both of us, Mister Westcott,” Lewrie told him, putting the best face on it. “We have a ship! Sapphire, badly in need of both a Captain and a First Officer. I requested you, and we are both now employed!”
“That’s tremendous, sir! Just grand!” Westcott loudly declared; loud enough to set many sets of teeth on edge among the un-employed.
“The First Secretary wants t’see you for a few minutes,” Lewrie told him. “After your meeting, I’ll be in the courtyard, havin’ a tea. Mind,” Lewrie continued, in a softer voice as he walked with Westcott to the foot of the stairs, “she ain’t a frigate. She’s a fifty-gunner, lyin’ at the Nore.”
Westcott made a faint moue of disappointment, but cheered up a second later, drolly saying, “The First Officer in a Fourth Rate gets a shilling or two more a day than the First in a Fifth Rate, even so. How did she come to need a First and a Captain both, sir?”
“I’ll tell ye over dinner,” Lewrie promised. “That’ll be something for you and your new girl to celebrate tonight, hey?”
“The idea of my sailing away might prove … useful, aye, sir!” Westcott said with a laugh and a wink. “Melts many a girlish heart. And … other things.”
“I’ll have t’get a note to Pettus, Yeovill, Desmond, and Furfy, with a note of hand, for them t’pack up instanter,” Lewrie deliberated, thinking of all he still would need to purchase in London while awaiting their arrival. “It’ll take me the better part of ten days to a fortnight before I can read myself in.”
“As soon as I receive my commission documents, sir, I can coach down to the Nore and lay the ground for your arrival,” Westcott offered. “I don’t have all your encumbrances, and could set out Monday.”
“If you can tear yourself away from all your passionate leave-takin’s that early, I’d be deeply in your debt, Geoffrey,” Lewrie said in gratitude. “Aye, that’d work out best.”
“Once I’ve seen the First Secretary, is there any reason for us to linger in this ‘Pit of Despair’, sir?” Westcott japed.
“Christ, no!” Lewrie hooted. “I’ve a favourite eatery over in Savoy Street, off the Strand, a truly grand place. When you are done with Mister Marsden, we’ll whistle up a coach and celebrate!”
“Be right with you, then, sir,” Westcott heartily agreed. “See you in the courtyard, then we’ll hoist sail and get out of here!”
