"Sold you?" Lewrie gawped.
"Feller'd spent a lot on me keepin', an' th' birthin' an' all," Tess pointed out. "Then there's what she spent on me, all the dresses an' such t'get me started… hairdressers an' makeup, an' teachin' me t'speak right an' be charmin'?" Tess had said with a grin, as if it was the accepted way of the world. "Don't rightly know how much she paid him, but she says I've worked it off, an' only have her now t'repay.
"I've even laid a little by for meself," she'd naпvely boasted, "an' sent a little t'Mum an' Da, like before. And sent them bastards at th' lace-works all o' what I stole, so they can't have me took up, can they? Mean t'say, I've made rec… recompense. 'Twas more than ten shillin's, an' they hang people who steal that much. In th' main, I'm doin' alright." Tess had decided.
"For now, but…'tis a hard life," Lewrie had commiserated.
"Nary so bad as most," Tess had said with a little chuckle as she'd snuggled closer to him. "Did I come t'London, just another poor girl, I'd'a ended a maid'r tavern girl, not makin' ten pound a year, an' maybe gettin' room, board, an' one gown an' pair o' shoes at Boxin' Day… an' still be took advantage of, for nothin'… a shillin' at best!" Tess had said with a derisive snort. "No, Mother Batson's is a good place, for now. Soon as I pay back what she spent on me, I'm to get a third o' me earnin's all for meself, she says! Then I can come an' go as I please, maybe get a place o' me own… without dependin' on a feller like yer Lord Draywick, nor any man."
"And do what?" Lewrie had asked her.
"Why, th' same as I do now," Tess had declared, looking up at him askance, as if he was daft, giggling a bit. " 'Til I've raked me up a pile o' 'tin' t'invest in th' Three Percents. Who knows? I could remove t'another town an' open a ladies' shop o' some sort, and turn respectable as anythin'. Find me a decent feller… a clerk or a farmer, an' might even marry. Someplace where no one'll know what I did, before."
"So… even though you don't like the life, and do want to get out of here… you'll stay with it?" Lewrie further asked, confused by her initial sadness, then her blunt acceptance.
"What else is a poor lass t'do, Captain Alan? Tess had countered. "It's not that hard a life, though it's a hard world," she'd said in conclusion, then had groped under the covers to stroke his nudity. "Well, if I can't convince ye t'take me under yer protection, there's th' rest o' th' night left us. If you're int'rested, o' course…," she'd coyly whispered. "Do I not see ya again, I'd wish a last grand night t'remember ya by, ya darlin', impressive man…"
"Oh, darlin', ye're own self," Lewrie had responded, passion rekindled in an eyeblink, hands caressing, lips kissing from her neck to…
"Seen the papers, Captain Lewrie?" ex-Major Baird enquired as he sidled up to get a refill of hot tea. "Thought they might be of interest to you."
"Uhm?" Lewrie replied, snatched from his sad reverie.
"The dockyards… the Navy dockyard workers," Baird chortled. "They had the nerve to send a delegation to town, demanding their pay be doubled, and Lord Saint Vincent sacked the lot of them, yesterday."
"Well, damn my eyes!" Lewrie exclaimed (rather a bit too loudly for the "Respectable" waiting for breakfast). "He said something like that would be his reaction. Good for 'Old Jarvy'!"
"Sent out orders for anyone who contributed to their trip, and anyone who joined in what he termed illegal combinations to be sacked, as well. The gall of the greedy… to threaten to walk out, just as our Navy is faced with another threat. Well, they got what they deserved."
"Hear, hear!" Lewrie heartily agreed.
"Ahem… gentlemen," the head butler intoned at the doors to the dining room, "breakfast is served."
"You spoke with Lord Saint Vincent?" ex-Major Baird enquired as they queued up to file in and take seats.
"A few days ago… looking for a ship," Lewrie told him, taking a bit of joy to be known among the powerful. "I was at the battle back in '97. Followed Nelson when he countered the Spanish van, and met Admiral Jervis, after. At least he remembered me, but nought was promised. We'll see. Ah, mullet kippers!"
He was famished, for he and Tess had fallen asleep just a bit after midnight, and had not sent down for their usual cold collation. A pork chop, a couple of kippers, two slices of fatty and crisp bacon, with two fried eggs and a heap of fried diced potatoes, and even the brown bread was cut two fingers thick, and nicely, crunchily toasted, wanting only slavers of butter and currant jam.
Didn't even linger for coffee or tea when I left, Lewrie thought with a guilty wince at his cowardice. All that had needed to be said had been said; had he found a way to slip out before she woke, he just might have, but…
"Excuse me, sirs… uhm, Captain Lewrie," the day porter said in a soft voice, leaning close to his chair, "you've a letter from Admiralty, Captain Lewrie, and there's a messenger awaiting your reply."
Ho… ly shit! Lewrie thought with a start, and a sudden flood of warmth; And just thankee Jesus!
"You gentlemen will excuse me?" Lewrie said, tossing aside his napkin and sliding his chair back. Frankly, it felt rather good for the other lodgers to goggle at him and speculate in muted whispers as he stepped out into the central hall, and broke the wax seal upon the creamy bond paper, and read it.
Sir,
You are required and directed to report to Admiralty as soon as possible following receipt of this letter, here to declare your immediate availabilty to take upon yourself the charge and command of His Majesty's Frigate, Thermopylae, now lying at Great Yarmouth. A brief written response pursuant to your acceptance of this posting, returned to us by Admiralty Messenger, should precede you. I am, sir,
Sir Evan Nepean,
1st Secty to Admiralty
"You're bloody-damned right I will!" Lewrie whooped with glee, practically bounding for the front desk, and the spare pen and ink. A quick scribbled "Yes!" and a glance towards the young messenger who stood with his hand out, and Lewrie was headed for the cellar stairs, where he hoped Liam Desmond and Patrick Furfy were loafing.
"There ye are, my lads!" he cried, spotting them both chummily seated near the warm cooking fireplace and griddle stoves, devouring their own breakfasts with gusto. Furfy froze with a length of kipper in his mouth. "Round up all my chests from the storage down here, and the garret, and see I've all the keys handy. We've got a ship!"
"Huzzah!" Desmond shouted. "D'ye hear, Pat? We're goin' back t'sea, and about time, too!"
"I'll go dress, and be back in a few hours," Lewrie quickly told them. "Before nightfall, there'll be a power o' shoppin' to do, so you two look lively now!"
"Wot's 'er name, sir?" Furfy called to his captain's back as Lewrie hustled back up the cellar stairs.
"Thermopylae!" Lewrie shouted over his shoulder. "A frigate!"
"Wot'sorta name's Therm… whativer, Liam?" Furfy asked his compatriot once Captain Lewrie had gone.
"Why, ye great, ignorant spalpeen," Desmond chid him as he cut two slices of bread for a last fatty-bacon sandwich, " 'twas a famous battle from long ago, or a famous admiral o' some sort o' th' Greeks or Romans. Iver hear th' English name a ship fer anythin' else? Get a move on, Pat… lash up an' stow, me lad, for sure as God made th' green apples fer a good purge, we're off t'th' Baltic with all o' th' others!"
"Gonna fight th' heathen Roosians, arrah!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
By mid-day the next morning, Lewrie and his small party were on the road east-London to Chelmsford, Chelmsford to Ipswich, and east to the coastal road to Great Yarmouth, where the fleet was gathering for the Baltic expedition. It was an expensive and long trip in a hired carriage, with a carting waggon following close behind which bore all of Lewrie's stored furnishings, wine, and hastily bought supplies for God knew how long a time at sea.
Wine by the case, whisky by the barricoe, brandy by the gallons; those damned furs, which, at such short notice, Lewrie could only purchase some used items, and those reeking of badly cured hides and camphor. Whatever they were actually pelts of, he had no idea at the moment. There were dried sausages and smoked fish for the cats… the requisite keg of dry beach sand he could find for their necessary box he could buy later… his crated-up plate and pewter service, his glasses and china, the collapsible settee and chairs, a tea-caddy freshly filled with coned suger, tea leaves, along with sacks of chocolate and coffee beans, the grinder, the pots, pans, grills, and utensils, and all the myriad of easily forgotten things that made life at least tolerable at sea. Boot-black and metal polish, spare uniforms and slop-trousers, dress and undress rigs, shirts and stockings, underdrawers and neck-stocks for every occasion from a howling winter gale to a presentation ball before foreign dignitaries, Lewrie thought he'd managed to gather the important things.