Lewrie also worried what his neighbours would think of a house on Dover Street being turned into a commercial enterprise, engaged in Trade, of a sorts. He thought to raise that topic with her, but had enough sense not to. He just made a point to be home with no shopping or riding scheduled on the days when the young M.P. showed up, all full of himself.
At his father’s insistence, they attended the Madeira Club for suppers several times, taking Charlie with them once. The place had been expanding the last time Lewrie had been in London, absorbing the house next door, and adding a billiards and cards room off the old entry foyer and lobby, opposite the original Common Room. There were some new members, an host of unfamiliar faces, but some of the Old Guard still held court, relishing the deference that the newcomers offered them; there was old Mr. Giles, cackling over the recent profits in his leather goods trade, Mr. Showalter, still in the House of Commons from what seemed a safe borough, winning re-election on a regular basis; even former Major Baird showed up once. He was now deep into his father-in-law’s iron smelting business, and had to come down to London at least once a month; and still chasing “quim” in Covent Garden out of range of his wife. And, of course, there was still Mr. Pilkington, still lean and gloomy despite the sumptuous meals that the club laid on, who’d rail over the national debt that the wars were costing the country, sure that it would all go smash.
At least the suppers were splendid, and the club’s wine cellar could still offer the best selections in town, as fine as any of the prestigious gentlemen’s clubs.
* * *
“Do we always dine so grandly?” Lewrie had cause to enquire at breakfast. There had been rashers of bacon, kippers, and sausages to choose from on the sideboard, scrambled eggs with hashed potatoes, thick slices of toast and butter and jams.
“Well, not usually, dear,” Jessica told him over the rim of her tea cup. “In winter, oatmeal with treacle, toast, and jam, is the usual fare. Soups and stews for dinner, and chops and vegetables for supper. Why, Alan? Do we over-feed you?” she asked teasingly.
“Any more celebratory meals and I’ll need new trousers and breeches,” Lewrie said, patting his midriff. “It ain’t the costs, it’s the amount, and the waste. Even the dogs can’t eat all the leftovers.”
“Well, I do imagine that part of it is Hazelwood, showing off his culinary skills, now that he has good reason,” Jessica allowed. “Is it not pleasing, after the sparcity of ship-board fare you described?”
“Pleasin’, aye, darling,” Lewrie told her, “but every day can’t be a feast day. I’d settle for one meat with breakfast, not three. And when winter comes, oatmeal and treacle sounds just fine.”
“I will speak with him, then, darling,” Jessica promised. “Yes, the house can go back to its old regimen, with perhaps but the one grand meal for Sundays … and when we have guests.”
“That sounds fine, then,” Lewrie said, stifling a burp. He had in point of fact loaded his plate with bacon, gone back for sausages, and sampled the kippers, too.
“Excuse me, Sir Alan,” Pettus said, stepping into the Morning Room, “Ma’am, but we have callers.”
“This early?” Lewrie griped.
“Your father, Sir Hugo, and a Midshipman Hugh Lewrie, sir,” Pettus announced.
“Good God! Hugh?” Lewrie whooped, tearing off his napkin and rising so quickly that he almost tipped over his chair. “See ’em in, Pettus. See ’em in!”
He stayed in the morning room just long enough to take hold of his wife’s chair to ease her to her feet before he dashed out into the hall to greet them in the foyer.
“Hugh, good Lord, where did you spring from?” Lewrie exclaimed as he greeted him, shaking his hand vigorously, and giving him a pat on the shoulder. “I do believe you’ve grown even taller!”
“Hallo, father,” Hugh said in return, clapping Lewrie on the shoulder for a moment, “It’s good to see you again, too!”
“Showed up at my door not an hour ago,” Sir Hugo said. “And I thought to re-unite you at once.”
Hugh had always taken after his late mother, Caroline; lighter hair, and a good head of it. He had grown to be almost two inches taller than Lewrie, and in the last few years since they’d last seen each other in Lisbon, Hugh had filled out at the shoulders, lean in the hips and waist, and had sprouted long, lean legs which made him appear even more impressive.
“You wrote that Undaunted paid off,” Lewrie said.
“A real pity, that, father,” Hugh said with a wee laugh. “She was a fine ship, and fetched us all a shower of prize-money. When you directed the squadron, we did very well upon that head, but, after Admiral Popham took command, and expanded operations, it came in like a winter snow, just piling up and piling up, hah hah!”
“Oh, Hugh,” Lewrie said, stepping back a pace to stand by hise wife, “allow me to name to you Dame Jessica Lewrie. Jessica, this is my younger son, Hugh, now a Passed Midshipman between ships.”
“Mister Lewrie,” Jessica said as she dipped him a cursty, with a graceful incline of her head.
“Dame Lewrie,” Hugh replied, with a formal bow.
“How odd to say!” Jessica said with a wee laugh. “Mister Lewrie, as if I’m addressing your father as if I’d never met him!”
“Get Sewallis here, and it could become confusing, Ma’am,” Hugh told her with a chuckle of his own.
“I met him, when his frigate was launched at Chatham,” Jessica said brightly, “Sir Hugo and I coached down, and it was ever so delightful an event.”
“Indeed it was,” Sir Hugo said.
“Coffee, tea, or have you eat yet?” Jessica offered. “I could have our cook prepare a breakfast for you.”
“Grandfather laid out some quick food, soon as I surprised him,” Hugh said, “but tea would be nice.”
“Yes, let’s go up to the drawing room and send down for tea,” Jessica said. “How wonderful! Now, I have met all three of Alan’s offspring. I am told, however, Mister Lewrie, that you may be the pluckier of the boys? The more playful than your brother Sewallis?”
“Well, he always was the book-ish sort, Ma’am,” Hugh laughed.
Once seated in the drawing room abovestairs, Hugh commented upon how tasteful he found the furnishings, and had to stroll over to stare at his father’s portrait.
“Quite a remarkable resemblance, father,” he said. “So life-like!”
“Jessica painted me right here, in the front parlour,” Lewrie was proud to say. “In fact, she accepted my request for her hand the day it was hung.”
“You don’t say!” Hugh exclaimed. “How fortuitous!”
“Heard from Sewallis, have you, Hugh?” Lewrie asked him as the tea things arrived, along with a plate of sweet bisquit and ginger snaps.
“Oh, rarely,” Hugh said, accepting a cup and saucer, pouring in some cream and spooning in some sugar. “His frigate is on the North American Station, sailing out of Halifax, from there down to Spanish Florida and back. It didn’t sound all that exciting to me. And since the Leopard had her fight with the American frigate Chesapeake, the Yankee Doodles have banned British warships from entering any of their ports, so, it sounds like a lot of sea time but little more.”
“All that ‘Free Trade and Sailors’ Rights’ talk?” Jessica asked.
“You keep up with such things, ma’am?” Hugh asked, surprised by a woman who followed the news.
“Well, of course, Mister Lewrie,” she told him. “I am now part of our Navy, in a manner of speaking, and what may affect my husband affects me.”
“Now you’re a Passed Mid, Hugh,” Lewrie enquired, “have you any word on when you gain your Lieutenantcy, and a new ship?”
“Well…” Hugh replied round a bite of ginger snap, “that was why I came to London. To see if you could be of any assistance.”
Come t’the wrong shop if that’s so, Lewrie sourly thought, wondering how to break the news.
“I may not be as much help as you imagine, lad,” he had to tell h
im. “As I told your grandfather, I’m a bit under a cloud, which is why I’m ashore on half-pay at the moment.”
“Envy, jealousy, spite and vindictiveness,” Sir Hugo gravelled, working his mouth sourly, “and influential patrons who’d have shoved Admiral Nelson aside, so long as their protégés got advanced.”
“I cannot pretend to understand all of it,” Jessica chimed in, “but Alan has been treated in the vilest manner by people who either lack the skill, or the good fortune, to accomplish anything on their own.”
“I … see,” Hugh said, looking crest-fallen and asea, darting glances at everyone. “Well, ehm … I suppose I’ll just have to trot up to Admiralty and take my chances in the Waiting Room. Brrr!”
“Surely, Captain Chalmers put in a good word for you,” Lewrie said.
“I’m told he did, father,” Hugh replied, “as he praised all of his officers and Mids when paying off Undaunted. But then he was off to commission a new frigate at Chatham. And, there was Lisbon,” he added with a shrug and a grimace.
“What about Lisbon?” Sir Hugo asked.
“Well, some of the older Mids and I took a day’s shore liberty, and we got a bit … pickled in a series of taverns, met some girls,” Hugh tried to shrug off … or shrink into his coat … “took them to supper, and dancing, and were stumbling about, hanging on each other and laughing fit to bust, when Captain Chalmers came round the corner and glared at us as fierce as Moses did before he broke the first set of tablets. The next morning, he had us in his great-cabins and took a strip of flesh from all of us.”
“Oh, God,” Lewrie snorted in humour. “I can just imagine it … disgracing the uniform, the Royal Navy, England itself? Drink, lust, dancing, public inebriation, and fornication?”
“That pretty much covers it, aye,” Hugh confessed.
“Captain Chalmers is a doughty fighter, and an excellent sea Captain,” Lewrie explained to the rest, “but a holy terror when it comes t’Bible thumpin’ … pardons, my dear,” he added, leaning over towards his wife. “He always thought that I was doomed to Hell ’cause I was never serious enough for him.”
Gawd, I was about t’blab all my doin’s, mistress and all! he almost blanched; Not bein’ serious she’ll understand.
Thank God Jessica found that amusing.
Thankfully, the dogs took that moment to dash into the drawing room in a noisy tail chase, discovered people, and the aromas of the sweet bisquits.
“Here, Bisquit,” Lewrie coaxed, “have a ginger snap and don’t go jumpin’ into anyone’s lap.”
“So that’s the famous Bisquit?” Hugh asked. “Then who’s this’un?”
“That’s Rembrandt, my dog,” Jessica told him. “Alan left Bisquit ashore the last time he sailed away, and they’ve become fast friends.”
They made a fuss over the dogs, and Bisquit swarmed his master, squirming and tail-wagging for pets and more ginger snaps, climbing halfway into Lewrie’s lap trying to lick his face.
“Let us show you round, Hugh,” Lewrie suggested, and, after the last of the sweet bisquit and a last cup of tea, they all rose to take a tour of the house and the back garden. They ended in the front parlour so Hugh could admire more of Jessica’s artistry.
“Her latest commission portrait,” Lewrie said, pointing to the framed portrait. “An M.P. from a Kentish borough.”
“It’s done,” Jessica told them. “I’ve let it dry, and will be picked up today, at last. Do you like the birds, Mister Lewrie?” she said, leading him to some works in progress. One was of a young girl goggling at a linnet sitting on her finger; the other was a parrot of spectacular plumage on a branch with a red berry between his beaks, and one clawed foot reaching for another.
“I had to borrow my maid and our butler, Pettus, to escort me to the exotic bird market near Billingsgate,” Jessica said with the faintest of distasteful moues. “We could hear the fish-market women and their foul language, even from blocks away. Very educational!” she said with a shy laugh.
“Did you paint it there, ma’am?” Hugh wondered.
“Oh no!” She said with another laugh, “I did the sketching, and noted the colours, then painted it safely here.”
“It’s done?” Lewrie asked. “And you’ve no new commission?”
“Free at last,” Jessica told him.
“Then, before the season’s done, I’ve an urge to go down to Anglesgreen,” Lewrie announced. “Country air, riding, Will Cony’s ale, and Mistress Furlough’s cooking? Charlotte’s staying with the Chiswicks, as usual.”
“God, I haven’t seen her in ages!” Hugh exclaimed. “Aye, let’s!”
“Oh, do invite Charlie!” Jessica pled. “He’d adore it!”
“I’ve a yen for the country, too,” Sir Hugo chimed in. “Capital!”
“Charlie?” Hugh asked.
“Jessica’s younger brother,” Lewrie supplied, “and a Midshipman aboard my two last ships. He’s sixteen or so, but he’s shaped well. You’d like him, I think, Hugh.”
“How is Charlotte?” Hugh pressed. “She writes so seldom that I’ve no idea what she’s up to.”
“Well, that,” Sir Hugo said, making another face. “She’s done two London Seasons, and a month at Bath, by now, and is still in search of a suitable husband. Picky thing. And it don’t help her temper for her cousin, Diana Chiswick, to be almost engaged.”
“You’ll see,” Lewrie said with a smirk. “We all shall. We’ll all pop round the Admiralty to show our faces, then pack and coach down.”
“I’ll send the Furloughs a letter to prepare them,” Sir Hugo promised. “We’ll stay what, about a fortnight?”
“Sounds good,” Lewrie agreed.
“It will be delightful … bliss!” Jessica rhapsodised. “Take the dogs?”
“They’d love it, too, I expect,” Lewrie said, smiling widely. “We’ll all three leave our address with Admiralty. Nothing will turn up in a fortnight, really. Dun Roman, Anglesgreen, Surrey. Sounds grand, Hugh?”
“I agree with Dame Lewrie, father,” Hugh Said. “It’ll be bliss!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It took two coaches for the trip down to Anglesgreen, Sir Hugo’s for himself, Lewrie and Jessica, Hugh, and young Charlie, and a hired coach to carry Deavers, Dasher and Turnbow, and Desmond, who had been long-promised a spell in the country. Yeovill came along out of boredom, since the Lewries’ cook, Hazelwood, would not allow Yeovill even to stir a pot in his kitchens, and Yeovill wished to get away from the tyrant for a few days.
It was slow going, initially, threading their way through Kingston, then Woking, but eventually the two coaches began to rattle along at a decent trot past the industries and crowds, and into an Autumnal bliss. Sash windows in the doors were lowered, and rural vistas took the place of rowhouses and coal smoke. Fields on either side of the road swayed with late season corn crops of barley, rye, wheat, and oats, with farm workers reaping and binding in stooks, and the smell of fresh-cut grain filled the air, rivalling the flowers growing along the sides of the road. Old hedgerows rose here and there, stretching for half a mile or so, then ending to reveal another open field thick with alfalfa or lespedeza being fetched to barns for winter feed for the livestock that would not be chosen for slaughter after the first frosts. For now, cattle, sheep, and pigs grazed and fattened themselves in perfect peace, and likely looking horses gamboled and frisked.
There had been just enough rain in Surrey to staunch the usual dust in the roads, but not enough yet to turn to mud, so they all took turns leaning out the sash windows to inhale the incredibly sweet airs they could never savour in London, even on a rare hot day when no coal needed to be burned to ward off a chill or the dank.
Every couple of hours, they pulled up at a posting house or a village tavern for brief trips to the “necessary,” a pint of ale for all passengers, and fresh water for the horses.
“I’ll just have a few sips of yours, Alan,” Jessica insisted at each stop, “or yours, Charlie. Ale embarasses
me.” To prove that it did, she had to stifle a ladylike burp after a few sips.
“Refreshing, though,” Lewrie teased.
“Immensely,” she agreed with a laugh.
“Tomorrow morning,” Sir Hugo announced, “I intend a good, long ride up into the woods. Who is with me?”
“I’d be delighted,” Hugh spoke up, “then, I suppose I could ride over to Governour’s and see Charlotte.”
“After dinner, first,” Lewrie suggested. “We all can.”
“Ehm, we might be a bit short on mounts for that,” Sir Hugo speculated as they re-entered their coach. “Might have to take the coach, for those who are short a horse.”
“So long as Charlie’s a welcome member of the family,” Lewrie said, rubbing his chin in thought, “and we don’t have a tame mare or gelding for Jessica, shouldn’t we see what’s on the market?”
“They used to hold horse fairs on the commons,” Hugh recalled. “Monday market days, mostly. It was great fun.”
“Yes, something gentle, I beg you,” Jessica said, pretending to shiver in dread. “You’d really buy me a mount of my own?”
“We most certainly shall,” Sir Hugo declared.
“You don’t ride often, ma’am?” Hugh asked her, and Jessica explained that she adored horses, but only rode when visiting her sisters or vicar brother’s country parishes, and converting from childhood to a proper lady’s sidesaddle had taken the joy from the endeavour.
“I’m sure to topple off backwards,” she confessed with a rueful expression. “Our city parish doesn’t require saddle horses. Even my father walks, or hires a hackney, to perform his duties. Charlie is the only one in our family who seems to have developed a seat.” She patted him briefly on the knee. “Galloping rented horses down Hyde Park with the other imps, most-like.”
Much Ado About Lewrie Page 15
