Dewey Lambdin - The King`s Commission

• Название: The King`s Commission
• Автор: Dewey Lambdin
• Жанр: Морские приключения

1782 First officer on brig o'war . . . Fresh from duty on the frigate Desperate in her fight with the French Capricieuse off St. Kitts, Midshipman Alan Lewrie passes his examination board for Lieutenancy and finds himself commissioned first officer of the brig o'war Shrike. There's time for some dalliance with the fair sex, and then Lieutenant Lewrie must be off to patrol the North American coast and attempt to bring the Muskogees and Seminoles onto the British side against the American rebels (dalliance with an Indian maiden is just part of the mission). Then it's back to the Caribbean, to sail beside Captain Horatio Nelson in the Battle for Turks Island. . . .Naval officer and rogue, Alan Lewrie is a man of his times and a hero for all times. His equals are Hornblower, Aubrey, and Maturin--sailors beloved by readers all over the world.

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"Mister Lewrie, sir?" the quartermaster's mate asked, keeping back just in case the first lieutenant exploded at him for interrupting.

"What?" he barked, stomping to a stop.

"'Is note come h'aboard fer ya, sir," the man whispered in terror of his possible wrath, offering another one of those damned letters.

"Bloody hell, another one?" Alan growled, snatching it from him and raising a finger to the brim of his cocked hat in rough salute so the man could shrink away.

This one was from Betty Hillwood.

That's right, pile it on, why don't you? Alan thought, casting his eyes towards heaven. My God, things could not possibly get much worse, could they. Wonder what the old mort wants?

After opening it, Alan discovered that yes, indeed, things could get worse. A small whimper of pain escaped him as he read it.

You must come ashore and meet me or suffer such dire consequences as you may not imagine to your reputation and your hopes for surviving the troubles you are in. If you do not confront me by sundown today, I shall be forced to tell all.

"Sufferin' shit!" he hissed. "Now what?"

"What's all this about?" Alan demanded after he had gotten his captain's leave to absent himself and had gone to Betty's lodgings.

"You've been a fool, Alan dear," Betty Hillwood told him with a cool air. For once, she was properly dressed, fit for genteel company, and had the tea service on the breakfast table for them.

"Oh, I'll grant you that," he fumed, declining her offer of tea and heading for the sideboard for a glass of wine. "But I did nothing with Anne Beauman. It was totally innocent!"

"I was not speaking of any troubles you are in with the Beauman family." Betty frowned. "I am talking of the trouble you are in with me!"

"Look Betty… Mrs. Hillwood." He fumbled. "We had a lot of pleasure, but…"

"You beg off seeing me, yet you continue to court that simpering fool, that mere chit of a girl Lucy Beauman," she intoned icily.

"Anne Beauman saw me leaving your apartments, that's why I didn't come back," Alan exclaimed. "She threatened to tell the Beaumans, out of concern for her younger sister-in-law."

"You refused my offer of companionship and support, Alan, no matter the circumstances," she drilled home archly. "No one spurns me. Alan. No one."

"Surely, you see that it's impossible," Alan stated, aghast at her attitude. "And I was kept aboard by duties. The Navy don't let me come and go as I please!"

"Ah, but the Navy allows you time enough ashore to woo your little Lucy, does it not? So don't lie about having no time for me. It won't answer."

"But Anne will tell the Beaumans. About us."

"Yes, she will, if she has any sense." Betty chuckled. "What better way to dispel the gossip that you squired her about town and practically pawed her at the Frenchman's."

"But I didn't, damn you!" he snapped.

"Oh, I am sure you did nothing so crude." Betty laughed. "That's not your style, dear boy. But what people bruit about as truth and what is real are totally foreign to each other. Our boresome little circle has a juicy new scandal to twitter about, and I'm sure they'll work it to death before they're through."

"I can explain everything," he insisted, feeling cornered but game. "And I can't believe Anne would throw me to the wolves. It isn't her style, either."

"In some ways, you are so innocent," she cooed. "But either way, you are finished with the Beaumans. No more hopes of a profitable match with that simple young tit, even if you could explain everything."

"My God, you're jealous!" he burst out in sudden understanding. "Did you have anything to do with this rumor getting started?"

"Not I, Alan. You did that yourself, you and Anne. With more common sense and discretion, you would not have gone into the shop with her," Mrs. Hillwood explained. "One does not appear so publicly with a married woman. You should have gone on to the restaurant and waited for her, or found a more private place to do your talking. Perhaps gone for a carriage ride, which would have appeared unremarkable."

"You're jealous of Lucy, aren't you!" he reiterated.

"Not at all," she replied lazily. "I would never have denied you such a hopeless pursuit, as long as we could continue our pleasurable couplings. With proper discretion, of course. You must have known it was hopeless from the start. Impressive you may be, but your purse isn't deep enough to suit the Beaumans' idea of a suitable mate for their daughter. I'd suspect them of starting the rumor."

"The hell they would!" Alan ranted. "It hurts them just as much as it does me. Far easier on everybody to make you and me public."

"For all I know, we probably already are," Betty informed him breezily. "Now do sit down and have some tea with me. And then we shall go to my chamber for something more fun."

"Good God, I've got a daddy and a husband sharpening their swords for a crack at me, and you want to get diddled?" he complained.

"It will come out alright, Alan, sit down. Just as easily as one rumor can get started, I and my friends can start another that you did nothing. While I cannot get you back into the good graces of the Beauman family, I can save you from further harm." She patted the settee beside her. "You would not have Anne Beauman suffer because you did not take my advice, would you? And how may I whisper what you need to do if you do not sit down here and let me get on with it?"

"Sorry, but I intend to go see Hugh Beauman and Mister Beauman and get this straightened out right now, while I have shore leave," he replied heatedly, setting down his glass and tugging his waist-coat straight.

"And do you also intend to continue refusing me?" she asked.

"I don't see how it would be possible," he told her. "And yes, I did consider your kind offer. I'm really flattered and grateful you find me that attractive, Mrs. Hillwood, but I must decline. I must be my own man, d'ye see."

"I am sorry you feel that way, Alan, and so shall you be. Very sorry, indeed." She frowned, setting down her cup. "I shall give you one chance to reconsider, after I have told you something else to help you make up your mind."

"And what, pray, could that be?" he snapped, eager to be away, and a trifle afraid of what she might come up with. "You cannot force people to shower their affections."

"As you said, we are probably an item of gossip, Alan, but as long as we maintain a certain decorum, there's no problem. Everyone knows about my marriage, and what two estranged people do, two people with money and high position, is their own business."

"So?" he sneered, getting impatient to leave.

"But, if a ceitain upstart young naval officer, who has already caused a storm of comment by his brash lust," she narrated with relish, "was to write a note to a lady of breeding and position, another lady at the same time, expressing how much he would like to couple with that lady, in graphic detail and language even uncultured men would flinch from, then how much more trouble do you think he could get into?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Last year, before you sailed away to glory, you left me a note, Alan. Do you remember it?" She smiled in victory.

"Oh, Christ." Yes, he did remember it. She had finally gone off into gin-induced slumber, and he had left her a letter on her pillow, thanking her for bedding him, and hoping to repeat the experience the next time he was in port. And, to match her own lusty vocabulary, he had phrased the contents in pure bosun's mate Billingsgate, of good, well-known English words of mostly four letters in reference to her body, his body, what was done with them, and certain favorite variations in technique or novelty he would like to perform again.

"Let me get this straight. If I walk out of here without giving you what amounts to permanent possession of my prick, you'll hold that note over my head?"

"Exactly."

"You silly bitch, what would people say about you if it got to be common knowledge? You'd be cutting your own throat! Go ahead!"

"I might remind you it's undated, Alan. If I say I received it just yesterday, then it has nothing to say about my reputation, but everything to say about yours."

"You wouldn't!"

"And while my poor husband couldn't care less if I open myself to every man and boy in Kingston, he could not ignore such an insult to the honor of his wife," she went on remorselessly with a pleased smile at her cleverness. "Discreet fucking is no fucking at all, but importunate addresses from a scandal-ridden Corinthian such as you would be more than he could stand. It would be a killing offense. While I may play the shocked matron. It may even appear that I spurned you, and you wrote that note in desperate want of me, to convince me to bed you. In that instance, my repute could work for me. While I have been known to succumb to charming gentlemen, I most certainly do not have to entertain foul-mouthed gutter-snipes."

"You really don't care what I say, do you?" Alan muttered, in shaky awe of just how low she could go. "If I give in, you force me to stay with you, and destroy my chances with Lucy Beauman. If I refuse, I still am denied Lucy, and you get your revenge. Either way, it's not that you want me so much, as you don't want me to dismiss you before you're ready. I see your game. You don't want to be jilted for somebody younger and prettier. My God, do you really think you'd make me perform like a trained terrier? Roll over, boy. Good boy, here's a treat. Cock-stand, boy, big 'un!"

"So what is your answer, sir? Stay and survive this contretemps?" she demanded evenly. "Or go and be destroyed utterly. Either way, you may forget any arrangement with Lucy Beauman. I do not mean to ruin you. And as you may remember, I can be forgiving and sweet to you. Face facts and stay, Alan dear. And I shall treat this as just a little domestic argument that occurs between lovers."

"Either way, as you put it, I'm looking at a duel. Hugh Beauman or your sodomite of a husband." Alan sighed. "All to assure yourself of some energetic sex? To salve your pride?"

"Would you deny me my pride?" She laughed, thinking her victory complete as she watched him vacillate, almost deflate with resignation. "Stay with me and answer my desires, and you'll be safe from further scandal. And I shall reward you with all the fondness of a satisfied lover. I shall dote on your every whim. And spare you the necessity of a duel, if you fear such."

He was indeed halfway to giving in to her will, of taking the most logical and safest course, reminding himself that she was an impressive and pleasurable ride; it wasn't as if he would have to get re-enthused about mounting her, even with a gun to his head. He had blown away any hopes of marrying Lucy Beauman now or in the future, so what was the difference. Yet in his weakest moment, she struck sparks on the flinty core of his stubborness with her comment that questioned his courage. By God, no one did that and lived to tell of it!

"Damn you to Hell for that!" he spat. "You can't buy me like a joint of beef, and you can't threaten me. Bring your husband on and I'll chop him to flinders! If he wants to blaze, I'll put a pistol ball right through him! If that makes you a deliriously happy widow into the bargain, then be damned to you!"

"You shall regret this," she rasped, her face paling. "I thought you were a young man of my own tastes, grown beyond the petty strictures of our hypocritical society. But I now see you're just another common sort. A secret hymn-singer with no courage to live his own life."

"Better that than a draggled whore who has to hire men to top her." He grinned, finished his wine and flung the glass across the room to shatter on the stuccoed wall. "Damme, have I ruined the set? A pity, ain't it. Bye, love."

On his way to Hugh Beauman's town house, he bought a light gutta-percha cane, little thicker than his index finger. When the servant announced him, Anne came running out into the front hall.

"Hugh is not here, Alan. And you should not be," she warned.

"Where is he, then?" Alan asked. "I have things to discuss with him."

"He went to father Beauman's. Oh, surely, you won't fight him! He's ready to kill you! Do anything but fight him."

"When he asks, tell him this. You took the risk to your repute to warn me off Betty Hillwood, do you understand?" Alan told her. "You knew, you would have sent me a letter, but you saw me in town and took the risk. There is nothing between us and you touched my hand once."

"He would not believe me," she almost wailed, sure that blood would be spilled before the day was out.

"Blame it all on Betty Hillwood, remember that. She started the rumor, her or her friends, to get even with me."

"He will not speak to me, so how may I tell him anything?"

"Because of Captain Mclntyre?" Alan asked.

"How… Oh God."

"I'll not see you hurt any more, Anne," he promised. "I've most like lost any chance with Lucy, but I'll get you out of this. Remember what I said."

"Lieutenant Alan Lewrie, sirs," the butler announced, and Alan stalked past him to confront Hugh Beauman and his father, both of whom looked shocked that he would even dare show his face to them. But after they got over their shock, their angry expressions prophecied a hanging.

"There, sir," Alan said, flinging the gutta-percha walking stick to the parqueted floor at Hugh Beauman's feet. "If you feel the need to use that on me, feel free. Should you wish it occur in the main plaza, we may go there, and I shall be completely at your disposal. I shall not defend myself."

His boldness disarmed them, as he thought it might, allowing him to present his case before they dredged their thoughts back into order.

"Mister Beauman, Master Hugh, I have been a complete, callow fool, and I humbly beg your forgiveness for any taint of scandal that might have touched your family. But I assure you as God's my witness Mistress Anne Beauman is completely blameless. If you will indulge me?"

"Um, yes, little privacy, what?" Beauman, Sr., stammered, waving his hand towards a small parlor or study off the main hall. Once the doors were shut, Alan took the offensive once more.

"I would take a public whipping to settle this if that is what it takes," he repeated.

"You squired my wife about the town, sir," Hugh began, working up his anger once more, now that they were in private. "You were seen fondling her, sir. What manner of man would expose a proper lady to that, dragging her into a public-house, sir?"

"Because I needed warning, sir, and she took the risk to her reputation to repair a greater risk to the Beauman family reputation. You should be thanking her, as I do."

"Warnin'?" the older man scoffed. "About what?"

"About Betty Hillwood, sir," Alan replied. "That's what I was a fool about. I was visiting her, to work off the humors of the blood."

"Ah," Mr. Beauman coughed. "I see. You an'… at clicket, eh?"

"Like foxes, sir," Alan admitted with a worldly smile. "Better her than a public-house whore-less chance of the pox."

There was a chance they would understand: the Beaumans were an earthy lot. From what he had heard of them, they could empathize.

"Being in the company of such a beautiful young lady as your Lucy raised my humors to the boiling point, and I thought it best to release that tension, sirs. And if my suit was to be a long one-and you note I use the past tense, sirs, since my foolish behavior has raised such a tempest I doubt you could entertain my hopes further-I feared the frustration would cause me to do something untoward."