Dewey Lambdin - King`s Captain

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

Following the footsteps of Horatio Hornblower and Jack Aubrey, whose ripping adventures capture thousands of new readers each year, comes the heir apparent to the mantle of Forester and O'Brian: Dewey Lambdin, and his acclaimed Alan Lewrie series. In this latest adventure Lewrie is promoted for his quick action in the Battle of Cape St. Vincent, but before he's even had a chance to settle into his new role, a mutiny rages through the fleet, and the sudden reappearance of an old enemy has Lewrie fighting not just for his command, but for his life.

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Nepean was looking at his mantel clock whilst he said all that, no matter his hearty bonhomie; he'd done his duty, and it was time for him to take up others, and Lewrie's presence was a time-waster. Which made Lewrie all but snort with cynical amusement.

"I'll just pay your clerk, Mister Nepean," he drawled, with one brow up and a quirky smile on his face. "And damme if it ain't one o' the cheapest ways ever I heard of to get a medal. Stap me… I should have thought o' this sooner."

"Erm… yayss," Nepean purred back, just as chary of Lewrie of a sudden as Lewrie was of him. "Well, goodbye, Commander Lewrie. We will be in touch by post, hmmm…?" And he chivvied Lewrie out of his offices into the care of an underling before Lewrie could utter another sound. The underling led him without a word to the aforementioned clerk, far down the hallway.

Lewrie felt like stopping dead in his tracks, or going back into Nepean 's office, concerned about the sheaf of penny tracts which had been hidden in his borrowed newspaper the previous evening. All sorts of rabble-rousing Republican cant: no more King, annually elected Parliaments, votes for the Common Man. What rot! But given his unfortunate penchant for shooting off his mouth, as he just had, of indulging his smarmy wit… he didn't think he'd get another welcome. Or a bit more of Nepean 's time of day.

He dug into his purse and paid on the nail, then waited for his slowly penned receipt for the sum owing. The clerk then opened a tin cash-box, and proceeded to begin counting out a stack of ornately made papers, muttering to himself and referring to a thick ledger.

"Damme, what are those, then?" Lewrie was forced to ask.

"This is the balance of your pay owing you, sir," the prim old fellow intoned most officiously. "Less advances previously paid out…"

"Looks like bum-fodder," Lewrie carped.

"Bank notes, sir"-the clerk tensed-"issued by the Bank of England are hardly, uhm… that which you just described, sir! They are perfectly good, legal tender throughout the realm, sir. There is the shortage of specie to consider, after all! They come in various denominations, you should note, sir… differing colours and such for a one- or two-pound note, the five, ten, and twenty. You will come across the odd fraud, issued by forgers or private or provincial banks… those which have not gone under the past two years, sir. Only these notes are legitimate, so you should give any received in exchange the closest inspection. And, of course, there are none smaller than a one pound."

"And I'm to be paid in these, am I? My crew, too, when it comes their due? 'Twill be a wonder do they not riot over 'em!"

"I fear so, Commander. But times are so terribly hard."

"Christ, what's the country comin' to?" he griped, stuffing the neat pile of bills into his coat pockets-they surely wouldn't go in a proper coin-purse!-and wondering how he'd get to Coutts's Bank to deposit them without losing half to a brisk breeze.

"One may only wonder, Commander… wonder, indeed!" that clerk lowed, like a mournful bovine.

CHAPTER FOUR

What a reassuring sameness and familiarity, Lewrie thought, all but squirming with anticipation as his hired coach swept past the stone ruins of the Norman or Saxon castle at the edge of Sir Romney Embleton's lands, mossy old St. George's Church hard by the eastern bridge, then Anglesgreen itself. "Damme, more change!" he grumbled to himself, as he beheld a whole new row of houses on the south side of the stream, the clutch of new buildings 'round the Red Swan Inn, how the ancient Old Ploughman tavern had taken down a row-house to make a side garden for casual drinkers or bowlers. There was a third bridge…! He clattered past quickly, 'round the curve of the Red Swan, onto the newly graveled road which forked off north, alongside Chiswick lands-taking the turning, he shouted to the coachman-onto a primeval, rutted goat track.

Trust Uncle Phineas Chiswick not to waste a single farthing for pea gravel on his private lane; just like the miserly old fart!

Lewrie sat up straighter, shifting from the larboard window to the starboard, for a first, tantalizing glimpse of his own home! "God!" he breathed in expectation.

There was a last turning between two (new) grey-brick pillars, onto his own lane, which was proper-gravelled and drained, wide enough for two coaches to pass, and lined with far set back sapling oaks. In twenty-five years, he'd have the makings of a drive found only on regal estates, he marvelled, beaming at Caroline's handiwork and forethought.

There was the house…!

The lane became a circular drive about an immense informal garden, tall and lush with flowers… what sort Lewrie wasn't quite sure, but they were blue, pink, white, pale yellow, rather pretty, uhm… somethings, he thought, a real English country garden that would bloom colourful from March 'til November. Caroline's work, that, and her green thumb.

There had been time for ivy (he was fairly sure he knew ivy when he saw it) to lay tentative creepers on the house front, about the imitation Palladian stucco central portal, and the homey grey brick. New white urns sat on either side of the portal as.. .jardinieres, he puzzled? Big as wash-tubs! Some yews and hollies to frame them between the windows-aye, definitely recognisable yews and hollies.

His hollies, his house, his house… his door! It was a glossy dark-blue, with his silvery Venetian-brass lion door-knocker prominent at its centre… and that door was opening…

He was out of the coach before the postillion could get down to lower the metal step for him, knocking his hat off in the process, and galloping to enfold the brood which erupted from the house.

"Good God, Hugh!" he cried. "My, boy, my boy!" he whooped, as he lifted him off his feet. "I'm home! Gad, yer gettin' heavy as any man. Sewallis!" he said, lowering the wildly exuberant and squirming Hugh, to fling his arms about his eldest, who, for once, came into his arms with something akin to enthusiasm to embrace him. Ten, he was by then, and sprouted like a weed, already as tall as Lewrie's chin!

"God, you're a sight for sore eyes, Sewallis. Grown so…!"

"Welcome home, Father," Sewallis said, teared up and with his lower lip trembling, but clinging to some shred of his sober stoicism. "We've missed you so."

"Yay, you're back, you're back!" Hugh crowed, so excited that he was capering sidewise like a cross-gaited pony. "Did you kill lots of Frenchmen? Did you sink a lot of ships? What'd you bring us? Ooh, what's this… a medal! Hurrah, did you get it from the King?"

"Boys… my God!" He shuddered, hugging them close to either side of him. "And little Charlotte?" He knelt down, tears in his eyes, as he beheld a perfectly adorable wee girl-child, no longer a squawling chub, but a miniature young lady so like her mother, with her mother's radiant amber-hazel eyes and spider-web fine, light-brown hair, long and bound into a loose tail beneath a missish little mob-cap. "When I left, you were still in swaddles. Lord, is it you, Charlotte?"

She hung back, a tad leery of him, a coy finger tugging at one corner of her pert little mouth… staring at him wide-eyed, like at a bad bargain. She came within grasping range only at his coaxing.

"Are you really my daddy?" she asked of a sudden, sounding just a bit cross and hiding her pudgy little hands in the folds of her fully flounced little sack gown.

"Well, o' course I am, Charlotte," he assured her, a tad put off. "Just been away too long, that's all. Of course I am."

As if to say, "Well, that's alright then," she relented, rushed to reward him with such a radiant and flirtatious smile, and flung her arms 'round his neck. He picked her up and stood, not knowing quite what to do with such a delicate packet, as she at last giggled aloud and gave him a peck on the cheek. Daughters, he thought ruefully, as he returned the favour upon both her cheeks; boys, now… them I can understand! Hell, I was one!

"Did you like the doll I sent you from Venice?" he asked her, as he paced about in a circle to admire her-now that she was satisfied that they were kin, "Did you get it… all safe and sound?"

"Ooh, Daddy, yessf she squealed with delight. "Did you bring me another?"

"Alan!" From the doorway.

He spun about to face her. Caroline! He roared her name in joy. It had been three long years; so long he'd almost forgotten what she looked like, even with a miniature portrait hanging in his cabins, almost forgotten what she sounded like.

Hugh was prancing about, wearing his gold-laced hat. Sewallis was being his ever-helpful self, dragging a heavy valise towards the entry. Yet there was his wife, and he could have trampled them all in the dust in his haste to hold her.

She came to him with the same haste, and charming little Charlotte had to fend for herself as Lewrie lowered her to the ground, instantly forgotten, to free his arms for Caroline.

Fierce as a lioness, her arms were about his neck as he lifted her from her toes. Fierce and needy as a starving lion was he, were both of them, as their lips met. She was beaming, weeping, her tears hot on his cheeks and his neck as he held her, pressing her to him and re-discovering her taut, slim firmness, and the sweetly softer curves of her hips, her belly against his, the press of her breasts…!

"God, it's so good to be home!" Lewrie crowed at the skies as he lowered her, slid his hands down to grasp hers, and leaned back to regard her. Her hair was down, like Charlotte 's, long, lustrous, and so fine-spun and loosely bound back in an almost girlish welcome, instead of a proper "goody" housewife's starched mob-cap. Clean, bright-shining… and sweet-smelling of her trademark citrony, flowery Hungary Water. Her eyes, her merry eyes! With the riant folds below them which waxed when she was happy… her mouth and lips, so widely spread in joy…

Damme, a touch o' grey? he puzzled at the sight of her temples; she ain't… I ain't… mean t'say, we ain't that old yet, surely…?

Crow's feet! merry-lookin' crow's feet, he corrected himself instantly. He felt her hands, so spare and slim, looked at her from head-to-toe (smiling all the while, mind), and took in how spare her forearms were below the lacy froth trim at her elbows-a definite softening of her formerly firm flesh, a falling away from the bone beneath…

Ah, but she did have the damn' fever, couple o' years ago, now didn't she? he assured himself; that'd put a few years on anybody!

He let go her hands and stepped forward to hold her close once more, to nuzzle at her neck, drink deep of her aroma, and stroke her back. "So damn' good t'be home! With such a lovely wife t'greet me! Swear t'Christ, Caroline… you're even lovelier than before!" Lewrie almost (but not quite) lied.

"Alan, I've missed you so!" she whispered in his ear. "Three long years! I'm sorry, I was above stairs… hoping you'd come today. Preparing, should you…?" She laughed softly.

"And a fine piece o' preparin' you've done, my dear," he told her. "Turned out like Sunday Divisions. Fair as morning…"

Here now, don't trowel it on, he chid himself; well-hang it-do! She's a woman, ain't she? You can't pay enough compliments!

They stood back from each other again, gazing fondly.

"Been dyin' t'be away from Portsmouth, London… achin'!"-Alan chuckled-"t'be with you… see your sweet, angel's face." She teared up again. But she was smiling fit to bust. "Love what you've done with the house, the drive, and all. And this fine round garden! What a splendid sight," he prated on. "I'd wager it's a fine thing to clap eyes on first thing of a morning… from our chambers, hmm? Or watch the dusk gather…?" He leered.

"Mummy, see Daddy's medal!" Hugh prompted. "For killing ever so many Frogs!"

"Frenchmen, Hugh dear," Caroline automatically corrected. "For killing Frenchmen then," Hugh amended.

"Not so polite to say 'round dear Sophie though, is it, Hugh?" Caroline instructed. "You must think of what might hurt people by the words you say… or the topics you mention, hmm?"

"It's alright, Hugh. I got this for fighting Spaniards." Alan winked. "The one for Frogs is to come by post."

"Hurray!" Hugh piped, and even Sewallis sounded glad. "Let's go inside, shall we?" Lewrie suggested. "I'm fair dry, and a tad peckish. That coach ride… let me but park my fundament in my favorite wing-chair. See if it awakens! Oh, Caroline, this is my steward, Aspinall. And his burden… that's Toulon."

"Ma'am," Aspinall said, doffing his hat and making a shy "leg." "Mister Aspinall," Caroline replied, with a regal incline of her head and a warm smile of welcome. "My husband has written of you so often. It will be quite the sailors' rendezvous here; you, Mister Padgett, and Andrews, for a time. I hope you take joy of your stay here."

"Lordy, I hope not, Mistress," Aspinall said, making a jape in his slow, shy way, "but… a sailors' rendezvous is where the Impress Gang gathers 'fore they goes out t'kidnap unwary sailormen."

"Let's call it 'Fiddler's Green,' then." Lewrie laughed out loud. "Free-flowin' rum, beer, and wine; music 'round the clock; and never a groat does the publican demand."

"Amen to that, Cap'um Lewrie." Aspinall smiled. "I'll be yer burden just 'til Monday, though, ma'am. Me and Padgett… we thought t'go back up t'London for a piece. Me mum an' dad's there… and Ma's doin' poorly. 'Til Cap'um Lewrie gets a new ship, ma'am."

"A new ship, yes… I see." Caroline frowned, turning to Alan for confirmation with a vexed, worrisome look. Complete with that vertical exclamation point wrinkled 'twixt her brows. "Do they say…?"

"Oh, not for weeks, I'm bound, dearest," Lewrie hastened to assure her. "Nigh on a month, perhaps. The First Lord, Earl Spencer, to my face told me I was due a spell of shore leave."

"Daddy's new kitty?" Charlotte exclaimed, going to peer close into the wicker cage. "Ooh, I want to hold him!"

"I wouldn't, young miss," Aspinall cautioned. "He's a terror when he's upset. An' the coach ride didn't set him well."

"Aye, Charlotte, leave him be, for a while, there's a good chub."

"But, Daddy…!" the wee'un said, stamping an imperious foot.

"Let's go in," Lewrie said again. "I'm dying to see what you've done with the place. All those improvements you wrote of…"

The formal salon was now furnished in light, airy fabrics, homey cherry or walnut settees, and such; the larger dining room was furnished as well. In the entry hall, those red-lacquered Venetian bombe commodes that Clotworthy Chute had "obtained" (how, he'd prefer never to know!) flanked the carpeted stairs, bearing coin-silver candelabras.