Dewey Lambdin - The King`s Commission
Chapter 5
"Jesus Christ!" he breathed, as he read the note again. More to the point: notes. One from Lucy:
I noe nott wat Cusstoms are in yur circels back home in London, but imagin howe distressed I was to lern from a Sorse who shal remane name-less that a yung man I thought werthy of my Love coud make sutch shameless and lood Advanses to my own estima vertuus Sister-in-law Anne!! I never herd the like of howe yu Carreed On with her in Publick to yur everlasting Shame and the Ruenashun of her Good Name!
Mine eys are nowe opend to wat sort of Corinthian yu reely are, and I must say, it braks my Hart to think I wuns consi thought we wood one day be congoy Mareed!
There was much more in the same vein (some of it indecipherable, of course), suitably tear-stained, but the meat of the missive was that she never wanted to see or hear from him again, and would be sorry when brother Hugh put him in the cold ground for dallying with his wife.
"But I didn't do anything!" Alan ranted in the semi-privacy of his cabin. "God Almighty, for the first time in my life, I'm almost innocent!"
To make matters worse, there was also a note from Hugh Beauman, advising Alan that if he did not relish dying on the point of his sword, he should make himself available as soon as possible to explain himself and the report of his conduct towards a happily married woman of distinction. Mr. Beauman, Sr., had put in his own post-script denying him any more welcome at his home, or any further contact with any member of his family, until the matter had been cleared up one way or another.
And I've been so bloody… good lately! he thought sadly as he let that collection of epistolary misery fall to the bunk from almost nerveless fingers. He had stayed aboard ship for the last week, with no more trips to Betty Hillwood's, and had answered her written invitations with pleas of duty. He had gone up to Lucy's and played the virtuous young swain, listening to Lucy and Floss butcher music on last year's harpsichord, which the tropic damp and the termites had soured even before their untalented fingers got hold of it. He had drunk innumerable gallons of tea and simpered politely at the social chin-wagging. He had acted properly respectful to everyone that called, especially Anne Beauman when she and her husband had been there, too.
"Damn, damn, damn!" he moaned. "Now, what do I do?"
He needed to think hard, and the stuffy cabin below decks was not conducive to logic. He threw on his coat and hat and stepped out into the wardroom, where several of the others were lazing about.
"Summat troublin' ye, Mister Lewrie, sir?" Caldwell asked him with a sly smile as he looked up from one of his charts he was updating, and Walsham the Marine lieutenant gave him a half-hidden smirk.
"Nothing particularly, Mister Caldwell."
"Nothing a fellow of so much dash may not solve," Walsham said with a titter.
"Damn your eyes, sir!" Alan spat. "How come you by that?"
"Nothing, sir." Walsham sobered, or tried to. "Only that I hear you've cut a dashing figure ashore lately. Some poor girl with a 'Jack-in-the-box'? Well, twenty guineas'll take care of it."
"I'd tread wary, Walsham," Alan snarled, leaning over the table to face him. "You might be slandering someone dear to me with your feeble japes, and I'll not stand for it."
Before Walsham could re-raise his fallen jaw, Alan spun about and trotted up the accommodation ladder to the gun deck, then up to the gangways where he could pace furiously. William Pitt hissed at him as he stamped around the fo'c'sle belfry.
"Get out of my sight, you worthless little hair-ball!" Alan roared, and Pitt laid back his ears, shrank away and ran forward, while the crew on watch sprang to whatever duties they were performing lazily a moment before.
"Mister Lewrie, sir?" the quartermaster's mate asked, keeping back just in case the first lieutenant exploded at him for interrupting.
"What?" he barked, stomping to a stop.
"'Is note come h'aboard fer ya, sir," the man whispered in terror of his possible wrath, offering another one of those damned letters.
"Bloody hell, another one?" Alan growled, snatching it from him and raising a finger to the brim of his cocked hat in rough salute so the man could shrink away.
This one was from Betty Hillwood.
That's right, pile it on, why don't you? Alan thought, casting his eyes towards heaven. My God, things could not possibly get much worse, could they. Wonder what the old mort wants?
After opening it, Alan discovered that yes, indeed, things could get worse. A small whimper of pain escaped him as he read it.
You must come ashore and meet me or suffer such dire consequences as you may not imagine to your reputation and your hopes for surviving the troubles you are in. If you do not confront me by sundown today, I shall be forced to tell all.
"Sufferin' shit!" he hissed. "Now what?"
"What's all this about?" Alan demanded after he had gotten his captain's leave to absent himself and had gone to Betty's lodgings.
"You've been a fool, Alan dear," Betty Hillwood told him with a cool air. For once, she was properly dressed, fit for genteel company, and had the tea service on the breakfast table for them.
"Oh, I'll grant you that," he fumed, declining her offer of tea and heading for the sideboard for a glass of wine. "But I did nothing with Anne Beauman. It was totally innocent!"
"I was not speaking of any troubles you are in with the Beauman family." Betty frowned. "I am talking of the trouble you are in with me!"
"Look Betty… Mrs. Hillwood." He fumbled. "We had a lot of pleasure, but…"
"You beg off seeing me, yet you continue to court that simpering fool, that mere chit of a girl Lucy Beauman," she intoned icily.
"Anne Beauman saw me leaving your apartments, that's why I didn't come back," Alan exclaimed. "She threatened to tell the Beaumans, out of concern for her younger sister-in-law."
"You refused my offer of companionship and support, Alan, no matter the circumstances," she drilled home archly. "No one spurns me. Alan. No one."
"Surely, you see that it's impossible," Alan stated, aghast at her attitude. "And I was kept aboard by duties. The Navy don't let me come and go as I please!"
"Ah, but the Navy allows you time enough ashore to woo your little Lucy, does it not? So don't lie about having no time for me. It won't answer."
"But Anne will tell the Beaumans. About us."
"Yes, she will, if she has any sense." Betty chuckled. "What better way to dispel the gossip that you squired her about town and practically pawed her at the Frenchman's."
"But I didn't, damn you!" he snapped.
"Oh, I am sure you did nothing so crude." Betty laughed. "That's not your style, dear boy. But what people bruit about as truth and what is real are totally foreign to each other. Our boresome little circle has a juicy new scandal to twitter about, and I'm sure they'll work it to death before they're through."
"I can explain everything," he insisted, feeling cornered but game. "And I can't believe Anne would throw me to the wolves. It isn't her style, either."
"In some ways, you are so innocent," she cooed. "But either way, you are finished with the Beaumans. No more hopes of a profitable match with that simple young tit, even if you could explain everything."
"My God, you're jealous!" he burst out in sudden understanding. "Did you have anything to do with this rumor getting started?"
"Not I, Alan. You did that yourself, you and Anne. With more common sense and discretion, you would not have gone into the shop with her," Mrs. Hillwood explained. "One does not appear so publicly with a married woman. You should have gone on to the restaurant and waited for her, or found a more private place to do your talking. Perhaps gone for a carriage ride, which would have appeared unremarkable."
"You're jealous of Lucy, aren't you!" he reiterated.
"Not at all," she replied lazily. "I would never have denied you such a hopeless pursuit, as long as we could continue our pleasurable couplings. With proper discretion, of course. You must have known it was hopeless from the start. Impressive you may be, but your purse isn't deep enough to suit the Beaumans' idea of a suitable mate for their daughter. I'd suspect them of starting the rumor."
"The hell they would!" Alan ranted. "It hurts them just as much as it does me. Far easier on everybody to make you and me public."
"For all I know, we probably already are," Betty informed him breezily. "Now do sit down and have some tea with me. And then we shall go to my chamber for something more fun."
"Good God, I've got a daddy and a husband sharpening their swords for a crack at me, and you want to get diddled?" he complained.
"It will come out alright, Alan, sit down. Just as easily as one rumor can get started, I and my friends can start another that you did nothing. While I cannot get you back into the good graces of the Beauman family, I can save you from further harm." She patted the settee beside her. "You would not have Anne Beauman suffer because you did not take my advice, would you? And how may I whisper what you need to do if you do not sit down here and let me get on with it?"
"Sorry, but I intend to go see Hugh Beauman and Mister Beauman and get this straightened out right now, while I have shore leave," he replied heatedly, setting down his glass and tugging his waist-coat straight.
"And do you also intend to continue refusing me?" she asked.
"I don't see how it would be possible," he told her. "And yes, I did consider your kind offer. I'm really flattered and grateful you find me that attractive, Mrs. Hillwood, but I must decline. I must be my own man, d'ye see."
"I am sorry you feel that way, Alan, and so shall you be. Very sorry, indeed." She frowned, setting down her cup. "I shall give you one chance to reconsider, after I have told you something else to help you make up your mind."
"And what, pray, could that be?" he snapped, eager to be away, and a trifle afraid of what she might come up with. "You cannot force people to shower their affections."
"As you said, we are probably an item of gossip, Alan, but as long as we maintain a certain decorum, there's no problem. Everyone knows about my marriage, and what two estranged people do, two people with money and high position, is their own business."
"So?" he sneered, getting impatient to leave.
"But, if a ceitain upstart young naval officer, who has already caused a storm of comment by his brash lust," she narrated with relish, "was to write a note to a lady of breeding and position, another lady at the same time, expressing how much he would like to couple with that lady, in graphic detail and language even uncultured men would flinch from, then how much more trouble do you think he could get into?"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Last year, before you sailed away to glory, you left me a note, Alan. Do you remember it?" She smiled in victory.
"Oh, Christ." Yes, he did remember it. She had finally gone off into gin-induced slumber, and he had left her a letter on her pillow, thanking her for bedding him, and hoping to repeat the experience the next time he was in port. And, to match her own lusty vocabulary, he had phrased the contents in pure bosun's mate Billingsgate, of good, well-known English words of mostly four letters in reference to her body, his body, what was done with them, and certain favorite variations in technique or novelty he would like to perform again.
