"Even if enforced," the Rev. Wilberforce commented, musing on all that Lewrie had said. "Well, I think… and I believe I am safe in saying for all of us, Captain Lewrie, that what you have related to us this morning has been enlightening… as to your motives, and what sort of man you are." He arose, leading the others to their feet.
It sounded very much like the interview was over and he had not won enough of them over. Well, there was the girl, but…
"There is the grave matter that what you did officially might be termed theft of chattel property," Wilberforce went on, "and property is the heart of Common Law, but… could it be intimated that you intend to offer the Jamaica Beaumans perhaps a modest recompence to assuage their rancour…"
"The Jamaica Beaumans hold too hot a grudge against Lewrie for even a princely sum to soothe them, sir," Mr. Twigg countered. "That would be for a court to determine, and, as I said when I first placed the matter to you, a court is the absolute last resort for Lewrie's cause, the very first for the Beaumans."
"Because you duelled," Mrs. More sniffed with disgust.
"Because I seconded Colonel Cashman, ma'am, and they cheated," Lewrie corrected her. "It was that, or allow my best friend get shot in the back. I'd not have that stain on my honour."
He could see another vicarious thrill cross their features at the image of Lewrie as a duelling man, a "killing gentleman," even if they did profess to abhor the deadly practice. At least it was done among the "better sorts," not the scurrilous poor and the riff-raff! And, if one intended to be Respectable in this new England these Reformers wished to make, honour went with Respectability.
"Whether you intend to aid Captain Lewrie," Mr. Twigg told them as they began to drift towards the double doors, "or not, his presence in Great Britain will be a hindrance to both his cause… and yours, sirs, madames. I have spoken to people I know at Admiralty, whichever way things fall out, d'ye see. HMS Proteus will soon be departing for foreign waters…"
Thank bloody Christ, and it's about time, too! Lewrie thought.
"… support in the Commons, assisting Sir Malcolm Shockley and his allies," Twigg suggested, "depicting the Beaumans as the epitome of cruelty, greed, and… crude rusticity. Sordid 'Country-Puts' of a brutal and spiteful nature, hmm? Speaking of saints, here's Lewrie and his magnificent list of achievements as a naval hero. Details of which I and my associates may supply you, as we also drop a few hints here and there… in the public press, if absolutely necessary," Mr. Twigg said, with an obvious dislike for newspapers.
Here now, just a tick, you said we'd not become a public spectacle! Lewrie cringed, wishing he could openly disagree to the idea of being… celebrated. And right vehemently, too!
"Else, sirs, else, ladies," Twigg ominously told their assembly, with a stern forefinger raised, " 'tis the Beaumans who will prosper in this affair, and the cause of emancipation in the Empire will suffer a grievous backwards step. Hang property, I say! For this touches more on Morality, and ultimate Justice… not Man's niggling laws. Well, then… we thank you for receiving us so kindly and attentively, and, no matter your final decision, are both most grateful that you allowed us our say."
"D'ye think we did my… 'cause' a damned bit o' good, Twigg?" Lewrie fretfully asked, once they'd been hatted, sworded, caned, and cloaked, ready to re-board their hired carriage, outside. "Damme, we didn't even touch on my involvement with the Saint-Domingue uprisings, respect for Toussaint L'Ouverture's slave rebellion, like we planned to, and…"
"Oh, I think we did, Lewrie," Twigg rather distractedly replied as he clambered into the coach and took seat upon the rear bench, hands crooked over the top of his cane, fingers flexing as his acute mind also churned odds and probabilities, going over what had been presented, as well as what had not been said, for lack of time or the right opening. Lewrie settled in across from him and felt like gnawing on one of his thumbnails as the coach lurched into motion, for Twigg was quite ignoring his presence.
Finally, Twigg's fingers did a last little dance on the handle of his cane, and a sly smile spread across his harsh, ruthless face.
"What?" Lewrie simply had to ask; that smile was just too odd.
"Bless me, Lewrie, but 'til now I never knew just how convincing you can be. Damme, but I am impressed by your seeming sincerity!" Mr. Twigg said with a simper.
"Wasn't a total sham, Mister Twigg!" Lewrie groused. "Mine arse on a band-box, but I do despise slavery. No person with the slightest bit of feeling could do else. The idea of court-martial and cashiering, a criminal trial and hanging, might've made me urgent and… glibber…"
"I don't think that's actually a word, sir," Twigg snickered.
"Damn dictionaries!" Lewrie griped. "With my name and neck on the line, maybe I did do a stellar stage performance to convince those people to aid me, but 'twas not a conversion by indictment, like your common criminal! Slavery makes me queasy, aye, but 'tis not a thing I thought to do anything active about, 'til… it just is, and…"
"What is the saying?" Twigg amusedly said. "That the threat of hanging concentrates the mind most wondrously, hmm? Well, of course most people in England despise slavery, Lewrie, whether they have ever been exposed to its evils, or not. They think, most patriotically, in Arne's song, 'Rule, Britannia'… 'Britons, never, never, neh-ver shall be slaves.' Now, how that squares with suspicion, xenophobia, and the Mobocracy's general hostility towards 'Samboes,' Cuffies, Hindoos, and Lascars if they turn up in this country, well… that's rather hard to say. Englishmen like the idea of emancipation… just so long as they don't have to rub elbows with the results, ha ha! Free as many as you like… just keep them out of England , what?"
"So…" Lewrie warily said, wondering just where Mr. Twigg was going with his prosing. "You're saying, then…?"
"That once this matter becomes public, almost everyone in the British Isles… minus those actively engaged in the slave trade and colonial trade, it goes without saying… will adore you for what you did, Lewrie. Do the Beau-mans dare sail here to press their charges in court… as they simply must, if you are allowed to be faced by your accusers, as the law requires… I fully expect them to be greeted at the docks by hordes of the Outraged Righteous… with the further addition of the idle, drunken, and easily excited Mob, of course."
"There'll be a trial, you're saying," Lewrie responded, with a groan and a sigh. "I'd hoped…"
"I fear there must be, sooner or later," Mr. Twigg said with a shrug, his eyes alight, making Lewrie feel as if he felt that it was no skin off his back if Lewrie got pilloried and dunged, or carted off to Tyburn. "But, only after such a public spectacle as to poison any jury empanelled, from Land's End to John o' Groats. Public sentiment will uphold you, and spit upon the Beaumans, and slavery. I do imagine that, 'twixt Wilberforce and his strident associates, and what covert efforts I and my associates may contribute, public sentiments may be played like a flute. But for one potentially harmful distraction…"
"Which is?" Lewrie asked, one eyebrow up in wariness.