“Yes,” Sir George intoned dryly. “Poor old Bales.”
Sir Onsley and Cmdr. Treghues were mystified by this exchange, and Lewrie rushed to sort things out for them.
“Captain Bevan was the officer who obtained me my first berth in Ariadne. He was also kind enough to see me safely to Portsmouth and helped me stock my kit. I wish to extend to you my hearty thanks for doing so, Captain Bevan. I have learned so much in the Navy, first under Captain Bales in poor Ariadne, from Sir Onsley, and now Commander Treghues. I feel so grateful for your assistance in discovering my new career. Having had a bit of success, and gaining so much knowledge has been an … an inspiring experience. Not to mention, uplifting.”
They know I’m raving, he told himself. They’ll get the leg irons first, and then the poking sticks. Lewrie, you can lie like a butcher’s dog. Oh, you arse-kissing, vile wretch … Please God they eat this shit up like plum duff …
“Really,” Sir George drawled, drawing the word out like a rapier.
“He is keen, and a fast learner,” Treghues said offhandedly, not wanting to praise Lewrie publicly now that Sir George was reacting to him much as he would regard a drunken hand at the gratings.
“Well, I shall keep my eye on him, then,” Sir George said with just the hint of a thaw, but it wasn’t the sort of smile that would give a man much cheer. It reminded Alan of a judge finding a new way to pronounce “transportation for life” after a full docket.
The interview died after that as Lewrie stumbled off, trying to find a graceful way to say goodbye to such an equivocal dismissal. He chased down a servant and loaded up on wine, fast.
The first went down in a rush and he began on the second.
“Merciful God in heaven,” he most miserably croaked. “I am so well and truly fucked—”
“’Ere, you watch yer mouth around a lady, ya dirty little Navy guttersnipe,” a gentleman standing close enough to hear said as he shook his fist at him. His wife stood by, face pruned in pious outrage.
“I am so sorry for disturbing your good lady, sir,” Lewrie said in surprise, but thinking fast. “I have just had the most shocking news from home. Do forgive me but I was beyond all temperance.”
“Oh, sorry, then…”
“Funny way of showing grief,” the woman said.
Grief’s the fucking word for it, he told himself.
He began to wander the salon, nodding to everyone whether he knew them or not, asking himself what he had done to bring down such a fate on himself. He had studied hard, he had worked hard, he had almost-but-not-quite come to tolerate the Navy, he was not even a three-bottle man, and hadn’t had any mutton for months, and could not understand why God could bring him so close to the edge of triumph and then dash him into the mud.
“Saving yourself for dinner, Lewrie?” Treghues asked him on his third aimless circuit of the salon.
“I’m sorry, sir?”
“This isn’t a drum,” Treghues told him. “There’s a sit-down meal coming. Are you half-seas over?” He scowled.
“Oh no, sir, I’m fine, really.”
“Slow down on the wine and go have a bite from the buffet, or I shall send you back aboard ship, and blast your supper and your dancing,” Treghues told him, not understanding what Sir George had against Lewrie, but determined to find out.
“Aye aye, sir, I … I shall join Avery and Forrester at the buffet, sir. They look to be having a fine time at the moment.”
The buffet was groaning under a load of wonderful-looking and -smelling food for snacking. Avery and Forrester were tucking it in like famished dogs, standing side by side and amiable for once in their greed, slowly grazing down the tables. If his nerves had not already suffered such a shock as to be terminal to his appetite, the sight of Forrester at trough would have done it anyway.
Feeling that Treghues was still watching him, he joined them and took a plate and utensils, spooning up the first thing handy with no regard for what it was.
“Do try some of this, Alan,” Avery said. “Some local kickshaw with honey and nuts on it. Could be rabbit. Forrester swears it’s partridge.”
“Um, yes,” Alan said after chewing a bite. “Maybe duck?”
“What a palate,” Forrester sneered. “Salt-pork is more to your style.”
“Spreading yourself a bit broader than usual tonight, Francis?” he shot back. “You’ll be needing new breeches if you keep on loading cargo like that.”
“You are so unbelievably common, Lewrie.”
“David, did you ever notice, right after eating you can’t understand a word he says?”
“Keeping his cheeks full, for later,” Avery surmised.
“Sucks it right up like a washdeck pump,” Alan said, studying Forrester closely. “But whatever does he do with the little bones?”
“Not sure, but it explains those low crunching noises in the middle of the night.”
“Have your little laughs,” Forrester said, “and then I shall have mine. You’ll be all-amort…”
“Whatever did he mean by that?” Lewrie wondered as Forrester moved away from them.
“I suppose he thinks he’ll be going into the flagship.”
“Could we be so lucky?” Lewrie asked, feeling a ray of sunshine penetrating his gloom. “Treghues and Sinclair are as thick as thieves, are they?”
“His uncle will take care of him,” Avery hinted.
“No,” Lewrie said with a sudden chill. “Forrester…”
“And Sinclair.” Avery was relentless. “I damn near cried.”
“Sweet suffering God, this is hellish,” Lewrie whispered. “I am ruined…”
“You?” Avery scoffed. “Think he has any more love for me? I was the one played so many pranks on him. But he stands a good chance of being out of our lives. He’ll be passed for lieutenant a lot quicker than us, but then he’s gone. Thank the good Lord.”
Lewrie set his plate down and rubbed his forehead, lost in a viselike agony trying to puzzle things out so they made sense.
“Desperate could be the post of honor,” he told David. “He might stay with us until a suitable big prize needed a master, and he would go into her. Immediate promotion, bought in, at least a lieutenant’s command below the Rates.”
“That makes me ill to contemplate.”
Or Forrester could stay in Desperate, and I go to the flag, where Sir George hounds me to ruin because of Forrester’s lies, and what happened in London, he thought gloomily. But plenty of men go to sea under a cloud, and as long as you’re good at your job no one gives a groat what you’ve done before. Alright, so Sir George doesn’t like me—that’s no reason he would harm me. What would it profit him? Oh, God, what else can go wrong?
“Alan!”
He turned to see Lucy Beauman dressed in a new gown of pale pink satin with an undergown of white lace, lots of ruched material on sleeves and bodice, her own hair in ringlets instead of a wig, all done up with flowers and maroon ribbons.
“Lucy … how truly magnificent and beautiful you look.”
“Oh, Alan,” she said, taking his hands. David coughed to break the spell.
“Excuse my manners … David Avery, Miss Lucy Beauman, Admiral Sir Onsley Matthews’ niece. Lucy, this is my shipmate, Midshipman David Avery.”
“Your servant, ma’am,” David said, making a graceful leg, and dribbling food from his unattended plate behind him.
Thank God for one good thing that has happened to me this evening, Alan thought happily, flushing with pleasure at seeing her once more, and aching with sudden longing as well. Every time he was reunited with her he found her more womanly, more desirable, more lovely, if such a thing was possible.
“Alan, Mister Avery, I should like you to meet my father.”
Right, thankee, God, Alan almost said aloud.
“Your servant, Mister Beauman, sir.”
Pére Beauman was squat as a toad, crammed into a bright green velvet coat, a longer-skirted old-style waistcoat awash in silve
r brocade, buff breeches and hose, with calves as thick as tillerheads. And the high-roached, elaborately curled bag wig he wore fairly screamed “Country”—of the worst huntin’, shootin’, ridin’, drinkin’, tenant-tramplin’, dog-lovin’ View Halloo variety.
This lovely girl is daughter to … that? Alan couldn’t accept it.
“You’re Lewrie, hey?” said Mister Beauman once they had both been bowed to. “Heard a lot about you.”
He has much in common with Sir George, Alan thought unhappily; he has heard of me. I cannot imagine a more ghastly evening …
“Like a lad with gumption. Chopped that fella, hey? With good reason, o’ course.”
“I could not in good conscience let his remarks pass, sir,” Lewrie told him, happy to hear that Lucy’s father sounded approving of his duel. Nothing like defending a daughter to placate a daddy. “The less said about his scurrilous remarks, the better, though, with the ladies present.”
“Onsley sez yer a comer. That so?”
“I am very grateful for Sir Onsley’s and Lady Maude’s good opinion, Mister Beauman. They are wonderful people.”
“Aye, that’s so. That’s so,” Mr. Beauman agreed, snaking himself a glass of wine from the buffet.
“And you come on business to Antigua, sir?”
“Hell, the Matthewses are sailing for home, lad. The slave revolt’s been put down, and Portland Bight’s healthier than Antigua in the summer. I’ve come to fetch Lucy home.”
“I had not thought that far ahead about the consequences, sir,” he said, sharing a heartbreaking look of confirmation from Lucy. “I am sure you’re pleased to be able to receive her back into your family in safety and peace—”
“Aye, true,” Beauman nodded heavily, changing glasses for a full one. “Bubbly Frog trash. Got your juju bag?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Sambo nonsense,” Beauman Sr. chuckled. “Still, any luck’s better than none, hey?”
Does this man ever speak in complete sentences? Alan wondered.
They were interrupted by the dinner gong, and the most important people began to pair off to file into the long dining rooms.
“Mister Beauman, if you are to fetch Lucy home, and I shall be sailing north in a few days, this ball may be our last chance to converse for some time. With your permission, of course, I should like to dance with your daughter.”
“Me, too,” Avery said in a barely audible mutter behind him.
“Aye, if she’s willin’,” Beauman agreed.
There were farewell speeches about Sir Onsley, welcoming speeches about Sir George, a word or two from Admiral Hood, many toasts and much food. With her father beside her, Lucy could not indulge in one of those long-distance romances of eyes and shrugs, so Lewrie had to content himself with his table companions, and a damned dull lot they were. The food he could barely taste, and did little more than mangle what little he allowed on his plate. His appetite was quite gone.
Am I going to be ruined? And if I am, then what am I to do for a living? I could stay in the Navy, but if this war ends I’ll have no chance of being retained. And they don’t give half-pay to midshipmen. Hell, without Sir Onsley’s help there’s no way I can make my lieutenancy. Even as a Commission Sea Officer, I’d be turned out on the beach, and half-pay is more like quarter-pay, it’s a joke. But, if I married Lucy Beauman I’d be a led-captain, a poor relation, but that’s worth more than half-pay, even worth more than a post-captain’s command. Either way, bless her, she’s the key to prosperity after the war …
After the ladies had retired, but before the port got going, he left the dining rooms to hunt up Lucy. He also badly needed coffee or tea. He had eaten little and had taken on a bit too much drink.
He got his coffee, dark and sweet the way he enjoyed it, drank one cup scanning the salon for Lucy, then got another cup and went out on the veranda. There she was, taking the air with some other younger girls. She left them quickly and came to him. They went around the corner for privacy, and once alone she buried her face in his shoulder and embraced him hungrily.
“Oh, Alan, I’ve been so miserable, and foolish … I never thought I’d have to go back to Jamaica and not see you again—”
“I’ve missed you, too, Lucy, and when I was told the admiral was hauling down his flag…”
“I wrote you so many letters. Did you get them?”
“We spoke no friendly ships the last two months,” Alan explained. “Did you get mine?”
“Oh, yes. There was always some sailor showing up with a letter saying he had just come in with news from you. I don’t know how you managed it.” Lucy beamed.
“They were our crew that came in with a prize,” he explained, finding it hard to believe that she had thought he could arrange his mail to be delivered whenever he wanted it. Maybe there’s a good reason she can’t spell, maybe she’s feebler than most women …
“And now I shall never see you again.” She pouted.
“I may sail to Kingston again, Lucy, we can still write each other, and I intend to ask your father if I may have his leave to call upon you when we put into port.”
“Oh, Alan…” She looked at him as if he had just invented gravity. “Do you love me, Alan? Do you truly love me that much?”
“Aye, I do.” Hold on here, do I? Yes, I must. But maybe I don’t. How do you tell? I’ve only been in lust. She’s such a beauty, and what I know of her body is enough to make anyone mad with passion. So, she may not be bright as a man. Who expects her to be …
“I love you, Alan,” she said, squeezing him tight. “I have been in love with you since I first saw you, all weak and ill, when they brought you into Auntie’s house. Oh, I think I shall die with happiness tonight…”
We’re not going that far just yet, he thought.
“Your father has to allow me to call upon you—”
“Oh, Father cannot deny us. No one could be that cruel. Alan, why must we wait? I had thought we would wait until the war was over, until you had become an officer, but if we feel so strongly, why do we not marry now?”
Her father will never go for that. Damn, she’ll blow the gaff on me with her impatience, and then goodbye security …
“I cannot, Lucy … there’s my duty to the Navy, my oath to the Crown. And I doubt if your father will agree after just meeting me. Perhaps we should let him get used to the idea?”
“But, Alan, many people marry in time of war…”
“But they don’t look kindly on midshipmen doing it. Lieutenants, perhaps. Right now the Navy is the only life I have, Lucy.” And a right dirty one it is, too, he added to himself.
“You shall have a life with me,” she said, pouting in the darkness of the veranda. Somehow Alan knew she was pouting. “Once the war is over, you owe the Navy nothing. If you wish a seafaring life, my father owns many ships. Their captains take their wives on trading voyages to so many exciting places … Or we could have a fine plantation of our own, thousands of acres to ourselves.”
I have discovered the keys to heaven itself, Alan rejoiced as he held her close to him. God, to be a planter, a trader, with ships of my own and regiments of slaves. And dear Lucy to rattle every night of the week. We could go back to London in triumph. And then to hell with the Navy, with my family and anyone else!
“I shall speak to your father but I beg you, Lucy, don’t be hasty. Let him consider me. He has no reason to dislike me as of yet, and Sir Onsley and Lady Maude can speak for me. And at home you can bring him round. How could he refuse his lovely daughter anything she desires once he has gotten used to the idea of me as a son-in-law?” Alan cooed.
“You are such a slyboots, Alan,” she said, kissing him. “I am so proud of you. So smart and clever. I love you so much.”
“And I love you, Lucy,” he echoed … did he mean it, a little? … kissing her back. “Now, we must go back in before someone comments on us being alone together. I would not give anyone the slightest reason to doubt your honor.”
/> “Yes,” she said, giving him one last hug. “I shall join Auntie and try to compose myself. And you will speak to Father tonight.”
“I promise.”
They kissed once more, a lingering kiss full of promised passion to come, before parting and making tiny adjustments to their dress. He offered her his arm and they reentered the salon just as the men began to leave the dining rooms to join the ladies for coffee.
Mr. Beauman spotted her right off and came across the room to join them, a frown on his face.
Lucy evidently knew that look from many years’ experience of his temper, and chattered with him briefly before hurrying to her aunt.
“Missed you over the port, lad,” Mr. Beauman said. “Wanted to get you alone for a while and have a chat. Veranda good for you?”
“Aye, sir…” The older man led him back out to the veranda. Alan retrieved his half-empty cup of coffee and sipped at it.
“Been gettin’ letters from Lucy, from her aunt ’bout you. Turned the lass’s head good n’ proper.”
“I have become fond of your daughter, Mister Beauman. At first I was grateful for all her concern and care when I was ill. But once I was well enough to get around and hold a real conversation with her, well…”
“An’ you want to talk about somethin’ more than dancin’ with the lass,” Beauman said.
“I would be most honored if I could come calling on her, sir, in the event that I get to Kingston.”
“The shit you say!” Beauman barked.
“Aye, sir.” Lewrie winced.
“She’s barely turned seventeen!”
“I am aware of that, sir.”
“What are you, eighteen? Boy with a Cambridge fortune, just a midshipman, an’ those’re two-a-penny.”
“Your brother-in-law, Sir Onsley, must have told you I have prospects, Mister Beauman. It’s true, I’m only a midshipman now, but that is now, not what I hope to accomplish.”
“Got lands back home? Rents o’ yer own?” Beauman carried on. “You in line to inherit? Parents substantial people?”
“No, sir.”
The King's Coat Page 33
