"Bloody ancient what?" Clotworthy had haw-hawed. "Old-hokin! at any rate. Heard he was anglin' for the very old. Just dug up from the Morea… Turk lands, and you know what they think o' images in human likeness. Why, 'twas a wonder they didn't melt 'em down for guns!"
"Think he'll bite, Clotworthy?" Lewrie had asked. To his untrained eye, they looked authentic; he'd have bit… if they had come from anyone else!
"Pay well for th' privilege, too, I'll warrant!" Clotworthy had roared with glee. "If not him, some other fool. If not them, I've an 'early' Canova, 'long with his sketches t'prove it. Best forgeries ever. We may not see each other after supper t'night, so… a quick departure on the Lisbon packet, right after the sale, hmm? So, good-bye, me old. I spect we'll be readin' 'bout ya in th' damn Gazette, hey?"
Lewrie shook his head in bewildered merriment, glad to see the back of him, though amused as always by Chute's scandalous antics. Just as long as it was others who got fleeced!
"Frolicsome pair, sir," Lieutenant Knolles commented, "what?"
"You didn't buy anything from him, did you? Play cards…?"
"Forewarned, sir… thankee." Knolles smiled.
"I'll go below for a moment, see the Shockleys to the deck."
He marveled all over again, as he entered his great-cabins, to see the pair of Venetian red-lacquered commodes-the geniune article, not lacca povera … at least Chute had assured him. He'd have to crate them back up, store them on the orlop. They'd never last a month, when his every furnishing was rushed below every gun-drill or call to Quarters. Free, he scoffed; free, gratis… from Clotworthy?
"Make up for th' tatties an' gravy, Alan, old son," he'd sworn. "Not pinched, neither. Made such a killin' an' expect such a killin', I could afford t'be magnanimous, hey? Yer wife'll love 'em."
And there sat Sir Malcolm and Lady Lucy, sipping tea with Mrs. Connor. Rather forbiddingly, Alan thought; rather frigid. Well, Sir Malcolm was all affable… but Lucy was a bit nose-high and snippish.
"Cap'an Lewrie!" little Michael cried, leaving off his games with the cats. He ran to hug Lewrie s leg and look up adoringly, making Lewrie cringe inside anew. "Look what! Whiskers can play ball!"
"Ah, that's marvelous, Michael," Lewrie enthused, kneeling to his level. "Did you teach him all by yourself? He's a clever kitten, isn't he? And you're a clever lad. Or did Toulon show him how?"
The first night aboard, shivering with fright, weeping and wailing most miserable from all he'd been forced to see and hear so young, little Michael had been inconsolable. 'Til Toulon had slunk up close and pressed against him, climbed in his lap and rubbed, bestowing cat-kisses and purring. Slept with him, too, in a hammock slung low in the chart-space, and never left his side. 'Til they'd come back from shore at Venice, of course, with Michael's present, a grey-and-black-striped tabby kitten of his very own-best of the thousands.
"No, I did!" Michael insisted loudly. "Come see!"
"I will, I promise. After supper tonight, we'll all have us a rare old romp, hey? But there's ship's business right now. Can't be a slack-hand captain, remember?"
"I 'member." Michael nodded, solemnly but impishly.
"Sir Malcolm… Lady Lucy, the boats from Lionheart are near, and your trunks and such are slung, ready to load," Lewrie told them.
"Ah, then we must be going. Come, my dear," Sir Malcolm said, finishing his tea and getting to his feet. "You'll join us on deck, Mistress Connor?"
"Your pardons, sir, but," Theoni replied, standing up and dipping him a short curtsey, "this close… I mean no discourtesy to you, but I have no wish to even have a glimpse of that island again, nor ever hear it mentioned. I hope you understand."
"I understand completely, ma'am, truly," Sir Malcolm said with sympathy. "Good-bye, then. And may I express to you my fondest wishes you may have a safe and tranquil journey to England. And find every contentment and joy once there, for both you and your fine little man. Come, Michael! A parting kiss! You're such a splendid young fellow. We'll miss you desperately, that's the boy!" And Michael complied.
"Good-bye, Lady Shockley," Theoni said, dipping her a departing curtsey as well. "A safe journey for you."
"Good-bye, my dear. Though we will see each other at supper?" Lucy answered, gushing so honey-sweet Lewrie almost winced.
"I'll see you out on deck, sir… ma'am?" he offered. "Want to come, Michael? Just you, not your kitten. He's not an old salt yet, not like Toulon."
"I'll mind him, Michael, you go on and watch the sailors and all," Theoni assured him.
"Why, d'ye know," Sir Malcolm suddenly announced, "we could all end on the same packet from Gibraltar. Certainly the same packet from Lisbon. See Commander Lewrie's things through customs, and make sure you arrive safe, Mistress Connor! Couldn't we, Lucy?"
"Why… yes!" Lucy replied, nonplussed for a moment at such an egregious notion, but recovering quickly. "How delightful a prospect!"
She shot Lewrie a glare; who took a squint to see what Theoni had made of that; receiving in turn a subtle arch of a perfect, artfully arched (and lovely, he thought!) brow, and a faintly amused cast to a forced-to-be-pleasant smile. The passage to Venice had become heaven. Passage from Venice had been all elbows and knees, grumblings and cattiness. No privacy, of course, not a jot; no chance to…
"Be back soon," Lewrie promised Theoni Connor. "I'll have Andrews or Cony keep a weather-eye on him, never fear."
"Then he will be in good hands," Theoni answered, a real smile playing at the corners of her lips; so full of hidden meaning and promise, he hoped. "None better," she added as she gathered up the kitten.
The second night of passage, Lewrie had been too fitful from his wound to sleep, despite Mr. Howse's infusion of laudanum in wine- enough, he'd assured Lewrie; to ease pain but leave him his wits should he be called on deck. Wakeful and tossing in a hammock in the dining-coach, too many years away from his midshipman days to be comfortable in it, he'd risen and stolen to his wine-cabinet, limping and wincing as the ship rolled and heaved her way north. He'd accidentally wakened Theoni, and she'd come to help him as he'd groped and stumbled to the settee. She'd fetched his wine and taken a measure for herself.
Their wine was in those heavy, ornate chalices that no one still living had claimed, once their property had been sorted out and returned to them. Those silver chalices that Clotworthy Chute had gasped over at first sight; he couldn't exactly swear, mind, but he thought them to be Cellini's work, or just as old and valuable, cast in his style. "What I say is, Alan, m'dear… were a fellow like you t'own 'em, he'd never leave someone th' likes o' me alone with 'em!"
They'd talked in low mutters, fearful they'd waken Michael, who had that night slept as if drugged, himself-his first real, refreshing night of rest after his satanic ordeal. They'd laughed a bit, softly, as the hours fled by with no call from above to summon him. Shared the parts of their pasts they'd cared to reveal. And, by the light of the single guttering candle, he'd been mesmerised by her tantalising, exotic beauty. Sitting so close together, a lonely…
Admit it, a randy man, too long without, he'd chid himself.