"Aye, that'd bulk th' gate, 'sides th' few poor sodgers stuck h'out there wif nary a di-wersion," Wigmore happily agreed, the sound of silver coins dropping into his receipts sack in his mind's fantasy. "Why, there must be 'undreds o' th' buggers, ah ah!" he purred, with his hands rubbing greedily together. "Promise me, Cap'm Lewrie, ye'll do all ye may t'git yer sailors, allyer sailors, an' them off t'other warships, ashore so'z we can h'amaze 'em, an' I'll give yer officers an' ye free h'admittance, h'often'z ye'd like!"
"That'd be grand, too, Mister Wigmore," Lewrie told him, "and, at Saint Helena, you'd be staging your plays, as well, so, did Captain Treghues allow, we might even be able to attend several nights… one night the circus, the next a comedy, the next a drama, or opera, or, in this case, what they call an operetta. I was quite taken with how your performers filled so many roles. Surely, what they may do on a stage would be even more interesting, revealing such a well of talent, so to speak. Does, erm… Eudoxia, for instance, or whatever her real name is… play dramatic roles, as well?"
I sound like a "Country-Put" sniffin' round a Pimp.'Lewrie chid himself, feeling a burn rise up from his collar once more; like a young buck tryin' t'sneak backstage at Drury Lane!
"Why, h'Eudoxia h'is 'er real name, sir," Wigmore declared with a wry squint of understanding at him, "th' 'princess' part's a bit of a stretch, but she did come from somewheres 'round th' Greek or Turkish 'Ellespont… s'truth! 'Er King's h'English h'ain't all that good t' play h 'important talkin' parts, but she goes down well when it come to supportin' roles, h'at comedies an' such… chorus singin', and, wot we calls in th' trade the h'ingenue. Like 'er show, partic'lar, Cap'm Lewrie?" he asked with a knowing nod and smile.
"Most impressive, indeed," Lewrie confessed, reddening more.
"Why, ye should tell 'er 'ow much ye were h'impressed!" Wigmore exclaimed, all but taking Lewrie by the elbow to steer him towards the tentage. "Come backstage wif me, an' we'll do that this werry minute!"
"I'd be, ah… delighted!" Lewrie agreed, much took quickly to make it sound casual, so he amended, "if that would be no imposition on your performers' privacy, o' course, ah…"
Wigmore looked at him most disbelievingly, damn' near goggled in point of fact, as he led him past the hopeful, leering local senhores and into the backstage area. And, knowing the goal of Lewrie's wish to "congratulate" his performers, took his own sweet time getting round to the object of Lewrie's quest. Lewrie was, perforce, made acquaintance with the horses; the parrots, who made use of his shoulders and arms for roosting branches; the terriers of the dog act, who found the permanent scent of cats on him equally delightful; a joyful rencontre with Fredo, and his brother Paulo (once the dog pack had been forcibly removed), both of whom seemed devilish-glad to see him, again; and both mother and baby camel, which involved rather a great deal of slobbers.
Hello to Jose, hello to almost everyone; a handshake with that eye-patched skeleton who made the lions perform, though without having to ruffle any lion fur, for those beasts were already back in a stout iron cage, gnawing on what little was left of their earlier supper.
Finally…
"An' surely ye remembers our darin' h'archer, Cap'm Lewrie," Wigmore said with a sly simper. "H'Eudoxia, darlin'… ye recollect Cap'm Lewrie o' th' Proteus frigate, wot stopped us?"
"Da, I do… yes," Eudoxia purred, cocking a brow at him as if to ask what took him so long. The scanty outfit and wig were now gone and she sported a thin silk dressing robe belted at the waist, looking as if she'd had a quick sponge-off right after the final parade. Her own hair had been brushed back into a single long mane, and the garish makeup she'd worn in the ring had been removed, as well. No cosmetics of a more conventional nature had replaced it, either; even so, Eudoxia appeared nigh-flawless, fresh-scrubbed, with her natural colour still high from her satisfaction with her performance, and her excitement at being in the public eye for a bit.
There was no curtsy or bow; she stuck out her hand man-fashion to shake with him, catching him in mid-"leg," forcing Lewrie to shift his hat from his right hand to his left to respond in kind, and finding her grip surprisingly strong, her slim fingers tautly lean.
"Your servant, Mistress Eudoxia," Lewrie said by rote.
"You are havink parrot shit on your shoulder, Kapitan Lewrie," she said, instead, reaching for a damp towel to sponge his coat, with an impish grin on her face; which kindness and care for his appearance required her to step overly close to his left side. With her in flat slippers, Eudoxia's chin was just below the point of his shoulder; shod in shoes with fashionably, and sensibly, low heels, she might stand within two or three inches of his own height of five feet nine. Looking larboard at her work, her face seemed solemn, but her eyes glittered and crinkled with well-hidden glee.
"Very kind of you, Mistress Eudoxia," Lewrie told her. "Normally sponging off my coat would involve cat fur."
"You havink pet cats?"
"Two of 'em… Chalky and Toulon," Lewrie said. "Grand company for sailors, cats. For a captain."
"A lonely think," Eudoxia agreed, stepping back at last. "I am seeink Kapitan Veed liffing alone in… great-cabins, da} Weed, I am to say, not Veed. New to the Engliski, but learnink quickly, do you think, Kapitan Lewrie?"
"Doin' main-well, Mistress Eudoxia… extremely well," Lewrie amended, since "main-well" was an idiom she hadn't yet met, it seemed. "Mister Wigmore says you came from beyond the Hellespont? Turkish, or Greek, or…?"
Her face hardened of an instant, her almond-shaped, almost Oriental eyes slitted in fury, and her nostrils flared; Eudoxia all but stamped a foot! "Turkman, nyet! Greek, nyet!" she fumed. "Ve beink Ukraine people… Cossack, not Mongol, not Tartar! What fool Wigmore know, hah. Not Muslim, but Russian Orthodox, yob tvoyemat!* (*"Fuck your mother.") Come from Volga! East of Volga!"
"The, ah… river, aye," Lewrie said, shrivelling up and shying from her sudden fury.
"Mans who say Cossack be bastard Tartars or Turkman is damn lie they tell!" Eudoxia snapped; this time she did stamp her foot, dainty though it was. "We Christian, see?" She opened the throat of her robe to display a silver cross with an odd diagonal extra bar, showing him the proud top-swell of her breasts, an expanse of flawless skin, and a promising depth of cleavage, too… though Lewrie didn't think that was her intent at the moment.
Why, I'll wager she's that yummy, right down to her toes! Lewrie told himself; Creamy… damn' creamy!
"I apologise for any misunderstanding, Mistress Eudoxia. Maybe I did not hear him right, and I was not aware of your… heritage," he said, red-faced. "Forgive my ignorance of your part of the world, but I've never been near the Volga, in the Black Sea."
"Um, I beink sorry, too, Kapitan Lewrie," Eudoxia meekly replied, looking down and all but biting her lower lip for a moment. "For saying the bad think.. .yob tvoyemat. Pajalsta… please, forgive? It mean to… do something bad vit' your own mother." She half-whispered that, blushing and lowering her gaze again, though finding it a tad funny.
"Would that be with, or without, bells on?" Lewrie asked with a grin. "An English expression, to… go do something to yourself, ye see… with bells on? Of course, you're forgiven, and thankee for a new phrase to add to my vocabulary. Should I ever sail to the Russias… d'ye think I might find it useful?"