"Bless me, Mister Twigg, but 'tis a rare thing, indeed, to see a solicitor be so, ah… solicitous, as to coach all the way down to Portsmouth for a client's ward's wedding," Mr. Langlie marvelled, and making Sadler turn several livid colours, after Twigg had made but the sketchiest explanation of Sadler's relationship to Lewrie; "financial aspects" was the way he'd phrased it.
"C… Captain Lewrie is a client of long standing, sir," Mr. Sadler managed to say with a straight face. "And, so successful with prizes taken over the years, that, ah…," he trailed off with a sheepish grin.
"I see," Langlie said, chin lifting and eyes glazing over after meeting one too many below his station. Sadler handled money, so he was a "tradesman," perhaps only a cut above an apothecary or tailor, and not quite a gentleman. "Your servant, Mister Sadler," he said as he turned to Lewrie once more. "A small matter, sir, speaking of financial doings… you are agreed, Captain Lewrie, that we each settle one hundred pounds per annum on our newlyweds… an hundred from me upon my son, an hundred from you upon Sophie?" "Absolutely, Mister Langlie," Lewrie agreed.
In much better humour, Langlie cocked a brow again, and posed a better offer. "Care to go guineas, instead, Captain Lewrie?"
Twenty-one shillings to the guinea, as opposed to twenty to the pound, would be ?105 per annum, ?210 total, in addition to the pay of a Commander in active commission, 8 shillings a day, or a little over ?134 per annum, less all the damned deductions, of course, so Sophie and her new husband would start out life on a firm financial footing, even if Sophie chose to reside apart from either set of in-laws.
I get acquitted, it's not that much more, Lewrie told himself; I get convicted and hung, and it don't matter a toss.
" Guineas it is, then," Lewrie agreed with a smile, offering his hand to seal the bargain. He could not resist turning to the hovering Sadler and adding, "You'll see to that arrangement, will you, Sadler? There's a good fellow."
"But of course, Captain Lewrie," Sadler had to respond to keep with the spirit of things, bowing himself away, his neck turned red.
"Well, shall we seat ourselves, join the ladies, and allow the festivities to begin, sir?" Langlie suggested, main-well pleased.
"Must speak," Twigg rasped in a harsh, business-like whisper in Lewrie's ear as Langlie preceded him to the table. "Later, hmm?"
"If we must," Lewrie said with a resigned sigh. "You, father, and Sadler all came down togeth-?"
"Later," Twigg shushed him. "All will be discovered."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Praiseful speeches from Lewrie, from Langlie's father, one shy shamble of thanks from the bridegroom, and even Sophie broke tradition to tap her wineglass with a spoon and rise to express eternal gratitude to the Lewries for her adoption as their ward, which touched upon how courageous Captain Lewrie had fought to conquer the French, who would have butchered the Royalist refugees, but for him; the pledge to her dying cousin to see her safe and protected in life, and, finally…
"… to have been so welcomed that I have quite forgotten those times when I was French, and may now make the proud boast that I have been raised as English as-as plum pudding!-and am now as equally proud to be the wife of an heroic British sea-dog. Merci to you, Captain Lewrie… to you, Mistress Caroline," she said, tearing up just a bit as she lifted a champagne glass. "To Sir Hugo, my jolly mentor, and to you and your company, Sewallis… Hugh… Charlotte. Darling and playful companions, all, and, to my many happy years in your family in Anglesgreen, that dear and lovely place, which will remain with me forever, no matter where Anthony and I go. Merci, merci beaucoup, to you all, and bonne chance to all of us!"
They toasted the King, with the youngest of Langlie's Midshipmen at the foot of the long table proposing it; followed by carefully chosen wardroom toasts-Monday's "To Our Ships at Sea"; Tuesday's "To Our Men"; and Sunday's "Absent Friends." Studiously avoiding, of course, "A Bloody War or a Sickly Season" (which was too much of a reminder of the bridegroom's trade), "Hunting and Old Port " (which wasn't apropos), and most certainly not "Sweethearts and Wives, May They Never Meet!"
After that, things degenerated to the usual "a glass with you, sir (or ma'am)," and offers of "may I interest you in another slice (serving) of this delectable…" ham, goose, roast beef, force meat pie, sausages, bacon, or removes of hashed potatoes, dainty made dishes, or platters of eggs, either fried, scrambled, poached, or Frenchified into omelettes.
At long last, not long before most people in Portsmouth would be thinking of their mid-day meals, when every attendee and guest had been sufficiently stuffed, and was "nigh-squiffy" with spirits, Langlie and his bride retired abovestairs to refresh themselves and change into travelling clothes, and the wedding party began to break up, in search of ease of their own, or another glass of something wet. Snickering Mids and young officers, with Burgess Chiswick leading Lewrie's children, went out to "decorate" the coach.
About a quarter-hour later, Sophie and her new husband had come back down, into a shower of rice and good wishes, some wishes verging on the ribald, said their good-byes, shook the last hands, shared their last hugs and kisses, and departed.
Thank bloody Christ that's over! Lewrie thought, nearly "half-foxed" himself, and in need of a restorative nap with his boots off, and the waistband of his breeches undone.
"Done, and done," his father said, beaming with pride over how well things had turned out.
"You did warn Langlie 'bout Sophie?" Lewrie asked him, thinking that Sir Hugo looked a tad off-centre, too.
"Whene'er she lapses into French, or gets a thicker accent, he should be on guard, yes," Sir Hugo rumbled, swaying a little. "Guard his purse, too, haw haw!' Where will they lodge?"
"A posting-house in Brighton," Lewrie told him. " 'Tis summer, so it should be pleasant. Salt-water bathes, flash crowds, even if the King or the Prince ain't there. Then, back to his ship on Monday, and Sophie's to move in with the Langlies near Horsham."
"Pity," Sir Hugo said, sighing. "Still, I don't s'pose Langlie will begrudge an hour or two of his time. Sadler'll have to go speak with him."
"Sadler? Why?" Lewrie scoffed.
"Didn't get his Lieutenant's journals, or get a shot at deposing him for your trial," Sir Hugo explained, as if he'd surely already told his son all about it. "Recall that wee matter, do ye?"
Here, Anthony, have my lovely ward, Lewrie thought sarcastically; oh, by the by, could you testify t'save my neck? Good trade, hey what?
"Ahem." Sadler announced his continual, pestiferous presence by coughing into his fist again.
"Ha, hmm?" Zachariah Twigg cleared his throat from slightly aft of Mr. Sadler, with an impatient and imperious look on his phyz.
And, to top things off, there also stood Caroline, arms crossed above her waist, tapping a neatly shod foot with one demanding brow up, and that furrow of "Right-Bloody-Now!" between her eyes!
Oh, Christ, Lewrie groaned to himself; which of 'em can I afford t'shrug off? Eeny-meeny-miney-mo?