“Perhaps, oh nautical one.” Kenyon laughed. “I shall send Mister Purnell to the flag with a message concerning this wind shift. I doubt if they wish to hazard our lord and lady. We may be delayed.”
“Oh, good,” Alan said without thinking.
“Have you some ulterior motive for wishing to stay in Kingston, Mister Lewrie?”
“Well, there are my pay-certificates, sir. Now I have them, I … have wanted a sextant, like Mister Ellison had in Ariadne. They are more accurate than a quadrant, and if we have to thread up the Bahamas again I would feel more secure in my reckoning. I hear they are fifteen guineas but I may find one for less with something to pledge for credit.”
Kenyon only stared at him, and Lewrie dropped back in his seat, suddenly intent on the view, hoping his lie might suit.
But their departure was delayed; the flag did not wish to send a lord to his death on a lee shore, nor did the local admiral desire to have his career end suddenly by losing an important government official. The Cantners would not board Parrot until Thursday evening for a Friday departure. The mail was not a priority, nor were any orders they carried of an urgent nature that would allow no delay of transportation.
Lewrie went below to change into fresh clothing after sweating up what he had worn at dinner and sport. He also had the wardroom servant haul up a bucket of salt-water so that he could sponge himself somewhat clean in the privacy of his tiny cabin.
“Mister Lewrie,” Kenyon called from the hatch to his cabins. “I believe you have some shopping to do?”
“Aye, sir,” he said, halfway into a clean shirt.
“So do I, and Mister Claghorne does not begrudge remaining in charge for a while longer. At the end of the Day Watch I will allow you to go ashore with me. We’ll leave Mister Purnell here to pursue his own endeavors.”
“Aye aye, sir!”
Lewrie scribbled a quick note and passed it to a passing bumboat with a shilling for delivery and the return of an answer, taking care that no one noticed.
Within two hours, a message was returned to him. Mrs. Hillwood would be at home for tea, and would be delighted to have him join her.
“Alan,” Purnell said, once they were aft by the taffrail deep in the flag lockers for inventory. “It was wonderful!”
“I thought you did, you little rogue! How does it feel to be a buck of the first head?” he congratulated.
“Grand, she gave me her handkerchief. It still has her perfume … her…” Tad blushed crimson.
“Next time you’re back in Kingston you’ll have a place to go,” Alan told him, cringing a bit that he was soon to be coupled with the same woman. “Uhm … how was she?”
“Well, she was very slim, as you might have noticed. Not bad, though. I thought she was going to eat me alive for a time there…” Tad answered, with a sly, adult grin.
“How grand for you,” Alan said, smiling at the news that Mrs. Hillwood enjoyed devouring midshipmen.
He was aching with anticipation by the time he and Lieutenant Kenyon were dropped off at the boat landing a little after 4:00 P.M. as the town began to awaken from the hottest part of the day, and cooling shadows lengthened.
“I shall sup at the Grapes, yonder,” Kenyon said, pointing to a modest and homely Georgian-style inn. “I wish you back here before midnight. May I trust you, Mister Lewrie?”
“Aye, sir,” Lewrie said, wondering if Kenyon thought he was going to take “leg-bail” from the Navy.
“Then leave the lady’s address with the doorkeeper at the inn, should I need you before then,” Kenyon said, making Lewrie gape at Kenyon’s powers of observation.
“How did you know it was a lady, sir?” he said, flummoxed.
“That is for masters and commanders to know, and for rutting midshipmen to discover later in their careers. Now off with you, and if you truly do find a sextant for less than fifteen guineas, let me known if they have another.”
“Aye, sir.” Lewrie was continually amazed by Kenyon and his attitude toward him. It was much more lenient than he had come to expect from a Sea Officer toward a lowly midshipman of so little practical experience. He thought that Kenyon truly liked him, and he knew that he had made great progress in gaining nautical skills as a result of it, but the exact reasons why it was so nagged at him. Who else would be a co-conspirator in his designs on a lonely grass-widow? It was almost beyond credence, and there were times that Alan felt that there was a debt building up which might someday have to be repaid. And, being born a leery soul …!
He found Mrs. Hillwood’s building, a great walled enclosure with a central court and front double iron gate that opened off a quiet side street. On the alleys there were discreet servants’ entrances. Normally, he would be scratching at one of those, but this afternoon he was an openly invited guest, so he entered the court and was faced with several apartments. Mrs. Hillwood’s number was on the second floor overlooking the court and its garden and fish pool.
The door was opened by a black maidservant, and he heard the tinny tinkling of a harpsichord and the murmur of several voices. At once his expectant erection became a distinct embarrassment as he realized it truly was a tea, with other guests, and not the sly invitation to strum the damned woman he had thought it was!
“Ah, our other guest,” Mrs. Hillwood said, rising to greet him. “This is Midshipman Alan Lewrie, from Parrot, the despatch boat. Mister Lewrie, allow me to name to you Reverend Robinson.”
“Your servant, sir,” Alan said, adjusting roles and making a graceful leg to the man, a young, chubby, and obviously poor sort of curate.
He met the reverend’s wife, a blubber-booby who had difficulty even bowing from a seated position, a planter and his wife, and an army officer from the local regiment with a young woman of his acquaintance.
The tea’s good, anyway, Alan thought sourly, sipping from his cup and gathering a small plate of baked trifles to pass the time. It was an agonizing hour and a half of small talk of privateers, prices in the Indies, prospects for crushing the rebellion in America, facing up to the French and the Spanish, the state of the Church, the latest poems, and a screed against those damned Wesleys and Methodism.
Lewrie got to put his oar in about life in the Navy and hoped he was amusing about some of his first experiences, but he could not hope to match broadsides with the Reverend Mr. Robinson or an opinionated young army major who was barely two years older than himself and sure that he was the last word on military affairs.
Only reason he’s a major is that he could buy a subaltern’s commission, and then buy his way up as people chucked it, Lewrie told himself. And he wasn’t too sure that he really didn’t know more about small arms and musketry, and most especially artillery, than the young man in the red coat with the scarlet sash, gorget and epaulet.
Mrs. Hillwood finally began to break up the tea party as the others began to stir in mutual boredom. The major gossip had been delivered, their bladders were full and it was getting on for sundown. Lewrie sighed and looked for his hat while Mrs. Hillwood gushed over the reverend and his chick-a-biddy wife at the door.
“You hat, sah,” the maidservant said softly. Lewrie had not had many island women; most of them were sure to be poxed if they dwelled anywhere near a harbor, but this one was tempting. She tapped the brim of his hat, forcing him to look down. There was a folded note in the inside of the crown. Aha. Now we’re getting somewhere. Must be from Mrs. Hillwood. I doubt if the servant can write.
Furtively, he stood to one side, adjusting his neckcloth in a mirror with his hat resting on the small table below it, and opened it to read without the others seeing. He was gratified to see that it was short and to the point: “Return in a quarter-hour.” Alan made his goodbyes publicly with the others and set off at a brisk pace to town.