Dewey Lambdin - THE GUN KETCH
"Wasn't always rich, y'know," Peyton continued. "Had but the one packet ship, and a used-goods chandlery past East Hill Street, almost in 'Over-Hill.' Inn, chandlery, an 'all-nations' dram shop. Brokered whores out of there, too, by all accounts. Sold slop-goods and shoddy not fit for anyone but slaves and the idle poor. Little of this, then a little of that, to show a profit. Had mongers out with drays hawking his castoffs like ragpickers. But he did the best of his business in calico and nankeen cloth for use on the plantings to dress slave gangs. Condemned salt-meats, weevily flour, gin, rum and ratafia brandy, that sort of hard bargain, hand-to-mouth trade," Peyton dismissed, raising a cultured eyebrow significantly. "Then in '75, when the Revolution broke out, everything changed for him overnight. The Admiralty Court gave him a Letter of Marque to turn privateer, and the next thing anyone knew, he was tea-trade, nabob-rich."
"A most impressive feat," Alan had to admit, though it galled.
"For a man who started out illiterate in the gutter," Boudreau sniffed top-loftily. "By the time Heloise and I got here in '82 when the Crown abandoned Charleston, he was strutting golden as an Ottoman sultan, with that big snip's chandlery, his fancy-goods shops on Bay Street, and half a dozen privateers flying his house flag. But, don't y'know," Peyton snickered, "the brats in the streets still tailed after him chanting his cant, 'Calico, calico, who'll buy my calico! Tis Jack, Jack, the Calico Man,' haw haw!"
"Oh, poor bastard!" Lewrie smiled, relishing what chagrin that would have caused the handsome Finney.
"Then, of course," Peyton sobered, "that was before he killed three men in duels for ragging him or sneering at him. And after he and Andrew Deveaux retook Nassau, he became a veritable social lion. For a time, mind," Peyton chuckled meanly. "Only for a time. One may not turn a sow's ear into a silk purse, after all. For all his fame and his money, he's still 'Beau-Trap' and too ill mannered for most decent people. No manners at all, though he's said to work hard at gaining some small measure of refinement. Built his fine town house, hired dancing-masters, tutors in elocution, only the best tailors and such. 'Moik me a foin gennulmun, damn yuz oyes!' he told 'em, hey?" Peyton scoffed, cruelly imitating a bogtrotter's brogue. "One may gild dried dung, but all one has to show for it is gold-plated shit, after all. And, he's still tight with his old chums from 'Over-Hill.' Niggers, scoundrels, shiftless whites and whores, pickpockets, cut-throats and such. And he is Irish, when you come right down to it."
"He seems welcome in everyone's salon, though," Alan commented. "And people seem to accept his invitations willingly enough."
"That's the 'fly' nature of Bahamian society," Peyton guffawed. "How few of them arose from the better classes? In Charleston, in London it goes without saying, and I suspect even in his native Dublin, in the better circles, John Finney'd still not be admitted but to the tradesman's entrance. There's damned few refined folk'd set foot inside his door. We do not. Nor do those who aspire to true civility ever invite him. In like manner, he has never seen my parlor, our salon, sir! Nor shall he," Peyton declaimed grandly, then cocked his grizzled head to peer closely at Alan. "And why this sudden interest, young sir?"
"He has irked me by showing an undue interest in Caroline."
"Ah, I see" Peyton drawled out. "Yes, she did once receive an invitation to some affair he was hosting. Thankfully, she told us of it before she responded, and we were able to discover to her what one may mention in polite company of his background, which discovery dissuaded her from attending, God be praised."
"Truly," Alan flushed, embarrassed that the truth was out.
"Sir… Alan," Peyton said kindly, "Heloise and I are that taken with your lovely Caroline. She is a most handsome girl, and a most intelligent and discerning one, in addition to her sweet and modest nature. Since you and she became our tenants, she has been like one of our own daughters to us. She most sensibly inquired of us the usual things. Where best to shop, where best for bargains and such. And, more importantly, which places best avoided. And, which people to avoid, so no breath of scandal ever taints your good name, or soils her, dare I say, immaculate repute. Unlike some I could name to you."
"Yet he seems to be everywhere we go, sir," Alan complained. "And he is so gracelessly… impertinent. And persistent!"
"You may not avoid him totally, since our society here is so small a circle, even with the influx of Loyalists by the hundreds," Peyton counseled. "Finney rose from the gutter by dint of dogged and slavish persistence, so one would suppose he believes anything will come to him, if he but perseveres. Still, he knows his place, deny it though he will."
"If he does persist, Mister Boudreau, I'll have to call him out for it," Alan frowned.
"Lord, no, Alan, I beg you!" the older man shuddered. "Do not duel him! He's a crack shot, and chopping fair with a sword."
"So am I, sir," Alan insisted, then blurted out his fears in spite of his best intentions. "If not Finney, then one of the other sparks who flock 'round her like so many importunate…" he tangled his tongue on his bile.
"Ah, the rest are but amusing themselves, playing the gallant and serving 'Jack-Sauce,'" Peyton dismissed with a chuckle. "Lookee here, young sir. Duck your head and cool your blood, and I'll tell you a tale that'll set your unease to rest, damme'f I won't!"
Lewrie ducked and came up blowing and snorting.
"When Heloise and I were first wed," Peyton Boudreau began his tale with a grin of reverie, "I was that jealous of her. That's the curse one takes upon oneself when one weds an incredibly lovely and desirable lady. As you did. I could not abide the attention all of her old beaus showed her, nor begrudge her time or her laughter they took from me. Now, had she been nothing but handsome,with no bottom or sense, filled with frippishness and flirtations… or more so than Charleston society permitted young ladies… I'd have slain a few of the bastards. Or died because of it. And lost our last twenty years of wedded bliss. Mind you," Peyton cautioned, tapping his nose and winking, "it ain't all custard and cream, no paradise on silver plate. No marriage is. New marriages even less so, before one becomes accustomed. But, women are not the empty-headed, fragile and vulnerable vessels, not as false a tribe, as the 'Mar-Text' reverends tell us."
"You've a level-headed lady, lad. Have some faith in her good judgment, in her sense of propriety. Caroline's not the sort to do anything, or allow anything or anyone to give you pause. 'Tis all in your head. The more one loves, the more intruders seem threatening. And, believe this when I relate it to you, the girl loves you with a single-minded devotion I could toast bread on! Your name, or tales about you, form half her waking conversation! I doubt she could sew a hem in a drape without thinking of how you would approve of it!"
"Thankee, Mister Boudreau, sir," Alan sagged in some measure of relief. " 'Tis gratifying to hear. But what dissuaded you from dueling those former rivals of your wife?"
"A long talk with a sage old uncle of mine, much like this."
"And did it help you, sir?"
"Not immediately, young sir," Peyton allowed with a rueful grin. "That came gradual. As does wisdom. But I did take a long look at it and discovered that Heloise would allow no gallantries or importunate addresses beyond a very firm boundary, and would give the rogues who crossed that boundary the 'cut-direct' the next time she saw them. I learned to trust her. A hard lesson, I'll admit. But, once learned, I became even fonder of her than ever before." "Fortunately for you, though, sir," Alan sighed, "you had none to deal with but gentlemen… who could take a hint. You had no Finney dogging your Heloise."
"Watch and see if your Caroline cannot put even a thick-skull Irish rogue in his place if he persists," Peyton laughed. "And to the galling scorn even of Bahamian society, haw haw! Trust her to handle herself, Alan. And I will give you assurance that Heloise and I will continue to chaperone and advise her, so you will have ' nought to give you worry when you sail the next time."
I may be dense as bloody marble most of the time, Alan thought, but even I can recognize good sense when I trip over it! "I will remember that, sir, and be damned grateful to you and your good lady for it," Alan enthused at last, taking Boudreau's hand and pumping it warmly. "I feared to leave her in Portsmouth without someone to count on. I'm happy to have found good friends here that we may both trust."
"You have indeed, young sir," Peyton smiled, "you have. Well, all this sun has me parched. There's a bottle of ale with my name on't that'd go down nice. Damme'f I ain't a touch peckish, too. You?"
"Your servant and mine have something succulent on the boil to tempt me, I must allow, sir," Alan said, wading ashore in a ragged set of breeches to towel off and don a patched old shirt without sleeves.
"Conch chowder. The very thing!" Peyton exclaimed. "Lobsters thick as your arm! Let us join the ladies. I see they've come ashore like so many fair daughters of Neptune, haw haw! The lovely Heloise, the superbly handsome and lissome Caroline! The bounteous, charming Betty! Poor chick." He sobered.
"Sir?" Alan asked as they trudged along the hard-packed sand.
"Betty's a sweet'un, near as sweet as your Caroline, d'you see. A trifle headlong in her enthusiasms, and her affections, though, to her cost. A bit too much the hearty coquette, but she has bottom," Peyton assayed. "If not the sense God promised a titmouse."
"I find her a bit forward and… frippish," Alan said. "Not the best company for Caroline. As a constant companion, that is."
"In point of fact, 'tis your Caroline who's been very good for Betty," Boudreau countered. "Family scattered hell-to-breakfast, one side Rebel, t'other Tory. Her father's over on Great Abaco, farming and timbering. She ran away with that irresponsible Rodgers and let him set her up here as his hired doxy. For lovel Had she a man who would give her a decent promise of marriage, had she some sense of security in his affection, well, she'd be happy as a kitten in the cream pot! But, he's a slender reed, is Benjamin Rodgers, so she's allowed certain young rogues and Corinthians address her and squire her about on rides, at balls and such, to fill his absences. To make him pay more attention to her when he is in port. And we both know that Rodgers' sort of rake-hell never responds to such ploys with anything other than scorn. He'd simply find another, and turf her out to fall further."
I do know that sort of rakehell, Alan thought wryly. Damned well, do I know me of old!
"But, with Caroline, and her eminent good sense to guide her, she's mending her ways," Peyton allowed. "Even turned her hands now and again to gardening and household economies, though I fear she'll never be a tenth part the wonder your lady is.No, don't begrudge Caroline her friend, Alan. Heloise and I quite like her. Just wish she had a better man, one she could trust, one who'd show her the sort of real affection and attention she craves. Do you not know some other naval officers who might wish to meet an attractive young lady, Alan? That sobersided lieutenant of yours, Ballard?"
