Fletcher's Glorious 1st of June

by John Drake

  I thought I’d done a good piece of business. If I’d survived our navy on the lower deck, I doubted the Yankee Navy would give me any troubles as an officer. Aside from having to get through the next few months, I was a happy man without a care in the world.

  After that, I sauntered around the town a bit, bought some ribbons for Lucinda and toddled back to Tontine Crescent in time for dinner. Cooper was out when I got back and I managed to corner Lucinda to give her my present. She was pleased as Punch.

  “What you do a thing like that for?” says she, but she lifted her shoulders, pouted into a mirror and swanned about holding the ribbons against her face.

  “Ah-ha!” thinks I, strike while the iron is hot. So I caught her from behind, threw my arms around her and whispered in her ear. “Lucinda,” says I softly, “why don’t we …”

  “No,” says she, “I got chores to do.”

  “Ah,” says I, “but you don’t know what I’ve got in mind!”

  “Huh!” says she in contemptuous dismissal of that. “You be a good boy an’ let go, an’ maybe I tap on yo’ door tonight.”

  So there were no fun and games just yet. And I had to make do with expectations.

  So I had a solitary dinner, served by the butler, and after that I lounged about the library feeling hard done by, and cursing Lucinda, and wondering whether I ought to look for some fun elsewhere.

  I’d heard from the men aboard John Stark that around Southack Street in west Boston was an area known as Mount Whoredom that was just the ticket for randy sailors. That sounded interesting and I’d decided to look it up when that swab Cooper came in, togged out in uniform and all full of himself. He’d had a grand day chasing Declaration’s crew round the decks to get her ready for sea and now he was ready to take his ease. In the careless way of those brought up with servants, he threw his coat and boots in three different directions and flopped into a chair. He was just itching to boast about his day’s work, but there was something he wanted to know before he opened fire.

  “Well, old fellow?” says he, looking all arch and mysterious. “Did you go to my uncle today?”

  “I did,” says I, watching his reaction.

  “Well?” says he, like a terrier at a rat-hole.

  It was amazing how keen he was. Very flattering, in a way. God only knows what he thought I could do for his wretched ship. But I couldn’t be bothered to play games.

  “I’m your man … Captain,” says I.

  “Hurrah!” says he, in real delight. “I’d come and shake your hand if I wasn’t so tired. Good man, Fletcher! If you’d ring for the servant, old fellow, we could have a drink to celebrate. And by the by, you’ll have seen that my carronades are mounted with screws at the breech. I was meaning to ask you, what’s your opinion on screw elevation as compared with coigns?”

  He kept me at it till after midnight, with me looking at the clock every minute and wondering whether Lucinda had given me up as a bad job. Finally, Cooper fell asleep in his blasted chair. It passed through my mind to find something to cover him but I was comprehensively fed up with him by then, so I left him to it and hoped he’d freeze in the night.

  Then I went to bed. Just as I’d settled down, and to my great delight, there came a soft tapping at the door. I was up and out of bed in seconds and wrenched the door half off its hinges. I snatched Lucinda off her feet, threw her on to the bed and locked the door behind me. I dragged my nightshirt off, jumped into bed beside her and pulled the covers over us. Eagerly, I seized her and buried my face in her neck, breathing the delicious smell of her and trying to run my hands over her body — which I couldn’t, not with any satisfaction anyway, as she was still wearing her nightgown and shawl.

  “Wait!” says she. “Give me time, honey!” So I backed off a little, and let her wriggle out of the shawl and get rid of it. Then she slid herself out of the nightgown and sat up straight, holding her arms out for me to see. There was just enough moonlight to show the difference between the shine of her skin and the thin bands of ribbon that she’d tied around her neck and her wrists.

  “Here too,” she said, and threw the bedclothes back to show more ribbons wound around her thighs.

  “Good Lord!” says I, in surprise, “I thought they went in your hair!” She smothered a laugh.

  “Huh!” says she. “They goes where they best suits.”

  And didn’t they just suit too? The contrast between the tightly wound bands and the bare ebony flesh was so artful and exciting that it made her ten times more naked than if she’d had nothing on at all. She laughed and wiggled her arms over her head and pouted her lips at me, shaking her body so that her breasts bounced.

  I sighed happily and grabbed her again, and pressed her close to me. There’s nothing on God’s earth to match the feel of a cool, fresh, naked woman: soft and smooth and slippery as silk. Believe me, my lads, half the delight of it is the wonderful feel of their skin against yours. Which is not to say you shouldn’t have the other half too, and by that time the lust was roaring within me like a furnace and an intense hot pleasure burned in my loins. If I didn’t have Lucinda that second, I’d burst.

  So I rolled her on to her back, slid her long legs around my waist and drove forward. But just when I felt that nothing could stop me short of a lightning bolt, Lucinda surprised me once more.

  She wriggled out of the line of fire, and nipped my shaft with all her might between her thumb and forefinger, just where it joined my body.

  “Ouch!” says I, it hurt, and the volcano got stoppered up just as it was about to erupt. I wouldn’t have given it credence if it hadn’t happened to me. By George but that girl had learned some tricks from somewhere. “Dammit, Lucinda!” says I, feeling hard done by and angry. “Why’d you do that?”

  “’Cos you is ignorant and you got no manners!” says she. “What you think you are, a hog with a sow?” She shoved me off, at arm’s length. “Now listen, honey, I let you have yo’ fun them other times, ‘cos I like you, unnerstand?”

  “Er, yes,” says I, “I think so …”

  “But this time, I dressed up real nice for you, ‘cos you brung me a present, like a gennelman should fo’ a lady. So if you gonna be some of a gennelman, you better be all of a gennelman …”

  “What?” says I.

  “Tell me, honey,” says she, “what sort of girls you had? Tell Lucinda …”

  “Well, er … Well ...” says I. What sort of girls did she think sailors had, dammit?

  “Huh!” says she, understanding well enough.

  “Well no woman’s said a word of complaint before, madame, I can tell you!” says I. That was telling her.

  “‘Course not, honey,” says she, “‘cos all them trash said afterwards was ‘Where’s the money?’”

  “Well at least I ain’t no bloody virgin, madam!” says I, getting really angry.

  “Sure,” says she, “but you don’t know nothin’! All you know is pleasin’ yo’self. What about me, honey? They’s two of us here. You think all there is to it is wham-barn-barn-thank-you-kindly-ma’am?”

  That made me laugh. And she laughed too. As the Duke of Wellington said, always pursue advantage. He said it in another context but it works with women too. So I swallowed my pique and kissed her instead, and she sighed and softened and slid her hands up my back to run her fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck.

  “So tell me, madam,” says I, “what does a gentleman do to please a lady.”

  “Well,” says she, “lots o’ things. You can start by kissing me.” I leaned forward to kiss her lips … “Not just there, honey,” says she, “everywhere.”

  “Everywhere?” says I. That sounded interesting, so I pulled back the bedclothes for a fair view of the target and Lucinda stretched her arms over her head, and lay back with her eyes closed.

  “Slowly, honey,” says she, “make it slow …”

  So I did, and I learned the rules as I went. I found the best way to go at it was to kneel across her on all fo
urs, and dip my head like a cat lapping up cream. And the lightest touch, the lightest brushing of my lips across her skin, brought the greatest response. That and an occasional nip with my teeth to vary the pace. By George, what a game it was too! Lucinda moaned and gasped and writhed with her nostrils arched and her mouth half open.

  So I worked my way gradually over her landscape, getting steadily more excited myself and wondering how long I could hold myself in.

  But Lucinda was a damn fine teacher and I think I learned more from her than any other before or since.

  “There, honey,” says she, “kiss me there,” and “Hold me there, no … there, and lift me up … that’s good … yes … yes.” (Damn me if I don’t bring me out in a sweat even now, just to think about it.) Finally she had me kneeling between her legs, and raising her up, with a hand under each round buttock, so I could the more easily kiss her full between the thighs. She was a gorgeous-built creature, with the daintiest fuzz of down on the pudendum, round thighs, flat stomach and glossy skin. She was wet inside with desire, and salty when I tasted her. And when I put my tongue inside and worked it all around she suddenly groaned and shuddered fit to bring the house down and then she sighed and lay still and begged me to take her in my arms.

  But she was as much a lady as she’d made me be a gentleman. And when she’d recovered a bit, she climbed on top of me and nibbled all round my ears with the tips of her teeth (which she knew I was partial to — it makes me laugh and tingle all over and it’s great fun, except that I could hardly breathe for the thrill of it).

  Then she eased herself on to my shaft, and swivelled her rump around it. At last, the unbearably delicious wave of ecstasy that I’d been fighting off could wash over me and I fired my broadside with a great force and a clear conscience.

  We dozed off after that, locked in each other’s arms, and contented as a pair of dormice in a granary. But later, Lucinda woke me up. She had something to tell me: something that put all my tidy plans at risk.

  13

  That one in whom I had come to place such trust should so abuse it can only mean that all intercourse between us must cease. However, you have my new address whereby you may correspond with my wife, your daughter, should she be willing so to do.

  (From a letter of 16th September 1793 to Mr Nathan Pendennis from Mr Edward Lucey.)

  *

  The discussion between Nathan Pendennis and Edward Lucey had been under way for some time. The hour was late, the servants were abed, and the candles in Pendennis’s study had burned low. The two men sat in by the dying fire, staring at its white ashes. So absorbed had they been that neither had thought to add fuel to the embers, though a basket of trimmed logs was standing by. Similarly, a decanter of port and two glasses remained untouched on a small table at Pendennis’s elbow.

  “No, sir!” said Lucey. “In all things ordinarily you know that I respect your judgement. But this time I believe you to be wrong. It is simply the case that we can never, never, trust her.”

  Pendennis cursed and damned. He’d exhausted his every argument and he’d failed to persuade — an uncommon experience for him. But then, in all truth, he only half believed in the case himself. In desperation he called up his final reserves. With much reluctance he produced a sealed letter from a pocket of his coat. Lucey looked in surprise at this development, but when the letter was held out to him, and he saw his name upon it in a clear and dainty hand, he shrank back as if from a poisoned chalice.

  “No!” said he.

  “Read it,” said Pendennis.

  “What is it?” said Lucey.

  “Read it,” repeated Pendennis. “It is from the lady herself. She said it would explain all should you ...” he paused, searching for a form of words that enabled him to pretend (even to himself) that no threat was involved, “should you not understand,” he said, finally.

  “Never!” said Lucey. He got up and paced the room in agitation. “It is some new threat,” said he. He looked down at the man whom he had come to regard as a father, and disillusion fell upon him. “If it is from her it can only be some foul blackmail. And, sir, I cannot believe that you do not know it!”

  This accurate shaft struck Pendennis in the heart and he squirmed in shame, unable to look his son-in-law in the eye.

  “She said that you must read it,” he mumbled in a petulant, self-justifying voice, “or the contents will be made public. She does not wish it so, but she cannot prevent it. She said it concerns things that you begged her to do and that she did for you.”

  Lucey’s face drained of colour and he sank into his chair like a dead man. It was now his turn to be unable to look his companion in the eye. Pendennis instantly seized his chance and thrust the letter into Lucey’s hand. For a while the two sat in silence, each staring at the letter but with widely different expectations.

  “Read it, boy!” said Pendennis, at last, and sheer curiosity forced Lucey to break the seal and unfold the single sheet. Shamefaced, he turned his back on Pendennis and held the letter to catch the dim candlelight. Quickly he read the few lines that Lady Sarah had written. She had written them for his most especial benefit and there was not one dull word on the page.

  Meanwhile, Pendennis was eaten with the desire to know what the letter said, but even in that extreme his dignity forbade that he should too obviously spy on another man’s correspondence. So, quietly he stretched in his chair, tilted up his head and squinted hard over Lucey’s shoulder. At first Pendennis could make out nothing. The light was so bad and the paper shook in Lucey’s hands. It seemed to be a list. There was a short paragraph of introduction, and then a list of numbered items. For an instant, Pendennis’s eyes focused on one of them, and the breath choked in his throat:

  “(3) That you turned me on my belly and used me in the manner of Sodom.”

  Pendennis gulped and in the same instant Lucey tore the letter in shreds, crushed them in his hands and jammed them into the fire where the few live coals would be sure to set them alight.

  “May she roast in hell, for the devil she is!” he groaned. He turned to Pendennis, in a dreadful fear and horror. “It was she that drew me on,” said he. “You of all men must understand!”

  “I?” said Pendennis.

  “You, sir!” cried Lucey. “She whispered in my ear. She named things that I knew not were even possible between a man and a woman. She bad me choose what most inflamed my desires … and ...” he faltered as his own part in the matter weighed upon him, “and I was fool enough to ...” His voice broke and he hung his head. “God help me should this come to light!” he cried and wrung his hands in agony. “And to think she made me beg for it, like a dog!” He turned again to Pendennis, “Was not this how she treated you, sir?”

  Pendennis said nothing. For the answer was no. No, it most certainly was not what had passed between himself and Lady Sarah Coignwood. Pendennis’s memory surged again with visions of satin thighs and quivering breasts. But no, indeed. His own congress with the lady had been terminated painfully and sharp and well before he could take his pleasure of her. And now, the overwhelming emotion that filled Pendennis’s mind was a great envy of Lucey’s adventures together with an insupportable curiosity regarding the other, unknown items on that list. There had been four more at the least.

  But Pendennis took command of himself with an effort of will, and dragged his mind back to the business in hand.

  “Edward,” said he, “will you not believe that she is as much a victim as you or I? Have you not attended to what I have said? The true villain is her son Victor. He holds her in fear of her life. She asks only that I testify to her ...” He coughed and corrected himself. “That is, to the true account of the murder of Mr Forster’s coachman.”

  “But, sir,” protested Lucey, “how many times have you yourself told me that she was a party to this murder? That she commanded her son to do it?”

  “Ah!” said Pendennis, taken aback, “ah! yes, or rather no ...” He floundered about trying to square t
he circle. “The truth is,” said he, “that is, the real truth, the greater truth, that she was forced into it.” Lucey’s sneer gave this argument the contempt it deserved.

  “Real truth? Greater truth?” said Lucey. “How many shades of truth might there be, sir? Shall you pick the one that best pleases?”

  “Damn your insolence, sir,” cried Pendennis, “Victor Coign-wood fired the fatal shot and there’s an end on it! I shall give testimony for Lady Sarah and you shall keep your long nose out!” Instantly Pendennis regretted this flare of temper and laid his hand on Lucey’s arm. “My dear boy,” said he, “we are trapped in this mire. If this comes out we are disgraced before the world. But think what she is offering instead.” He shook Lucey’s arm to rouse him from the despair in which he was drowning. “Listen to me, Edward! She promises that everything shall be kept secret and that she will abandon her claim to the Coignwood estate, and come to terms with us. This will save all parties the vast cost of litigation.”

  “Those, sir,” said Lucey, “are terms which will enable her to drain us of money for the rest of her life. She has only to turn the screw again, whenever she’s short of cash.”

  “Hold your bloody tongue, you villain!” snapped Pendennis, boffin in rage because his nose had been rubbed in the very thing he was trying so hard not to see. For there was a third clause to Lady Sarah’s offer. A secret clause that had been offered him in Cicero’s Pleasure Gardens, to the accompaniment of fluttering lashes and maidenly blushes. It concerned certain favours that Pendennis would receive in due course, if Lady Sarah got her way. Pendennis was held by this as surely as a dungeoned prisoner is secured by the heavy chain that links his thick iron collar to the ponderous ring-bolt driven deep into the rock of his cell.

  Unfortunately, having been reminded of all its prurient detail, Edward Lucey was equally unable to escape the snare of blackmail into which he’d so eagerly stepped.