"No?" Lewrie teased. "She seems a prim, mannerly sort."
"The good Reverend and his wife have been all but shoving her at me, Alan, soon as word got round the ship that I'd made a fair pile of 'tin,'" Chiswick scoffed. "After all my time in India, I'm not sure what a good woman looks like, but, for all her time in India, Mistress Alicia is still the 'shrinking violet' sort, so prim and sheltered she might as well be new-come from the Moon!
"Besides," Burgess grumbled, "she and her family are as 'skint' as… church-mice. I doubt the girl would fetch me fourty pounds per annum for a dowry, and her paraphernalia might not extend beyond poor Hindi-made furniture and bedding. Like… calls to like, what?"
"Definitely not 'landed,' either, I'd s'pose?" Lewrie asked.
"Spent their whole time traipsing from one poor glebe to a next, doing 'good works' and ministering to pagans and 'rice Christians' in the Bengali slums," Burgess told him with a mocking shudder. "Reverend Brothers may be the only man ever took Holy Orders who believed in a vow of poverty. Either that, or he's a disguised Catholic monk with a weakness for dour bed-partners, haw haw! Aha! This is our eland?" he exulted as the waiter fetched their first course. Chiswick forked some onto his plate, slathered a bite with the spicy-hot plum sauce, and sampled it. "Marvellous!" he cried after a sip of the local wine. "This Cape burgundy's better than any they sent us, too, I'll tell you. That… biltong of yours. It's as good as this? Might I be able to purchase some for the voyage home? 'John Company' victuals are decent, but I'd relish some game meat, now and again."
"Purchase able, aye," Lewrie told him, "though, I shot most of mine. A little hunting down the peninsula to Simon's Town, and back."
"I'd adore an African shikar," Burgess declared, between bites. "Didn't get much chance, our first voyage out East. Hunted all over India, of course, even bagged a tolerable tiger once, but, there might not be time enough, even with the bad water problem. Comes from relying too much on local suppliers, who filled their casks close to Calcutta, 'stead of inland."
" Hooghly River sewage, no wonder they had sickness aboard. 'Tis a wonder no one died," Lewrie commented, raking several strips of hot eland meat onto his plate before the ravenous Burgess Chiswick gobbled them all. "I'm told they'll be ready to sail in two days."
"Not enough time, then," Burgess said with a disappointed sigh. "Look here, then, Alan… do you recall anyone round Anglesgreen who might be a suitable mate? I intend to heed Millicent's and Caroline's advice in seeking a good match…"
"Well, Caroline might be a touch prejudiced on wedded bliss," Lewrie admitted with a wee grimace. "Not much local 'talent'…"
"Always did have her head in the clouds," Burgess scoffed, "all those horrid romance novels she's read. As you allude, Millicent may be my best advisor."
"You could call on my father in London," Lewrie teased, again.
"Not him!" Burgess hooted. "Well, perhaps London, but not with his advice. A wider 'market,' what? In fact, Alan… I've received letters from Sir Hugo, 'bout once a year or so, and, frankly, had I my druthers, I'm much intrigued to be introduced to your ward, Comptesse Sophie de Maubeuge."
"She's no 'dot,' no dowry worth mentioning, Burge," Lewrie had to caution him. "Though, she is become a fine and fetching, mannerly young lady, of the best accomplishments. Beyond the usual parlour and musical doings, she's an excellent horsewoman."
"Fine as your Russian Cossack wench?" It was Chiswick's turn to tease. "My word, but your Mistress Eudoxia was impressive."
"Not my wench," Lewrie was quick to correct him. Just in case he got home and spoke to Caroline before he could. "Never laid a hand on her. Really!" he added, at seeing Chiswick's extremely leery expression. "Might have given it a thought, but…"
"And I didn't help matters. Ah, well," Burgess said, sighing again. "Wroth as the mort is with you, I doubt a stab at her on my part would go down well, either. Seemed taken with you… a while."
"Probably not," Lewrie replied, busying himself with knife and fork and plum sauce, secretly relieved that Burgess had no chance with her, even he didn't, either. Jealous, am I? He thought; Whyever?
"A harmless flirtation on her part," Lewrie dismissively said. "Here's a thought, though. When you take leave and go up to London, I am acquainted with a very rich tradesman's family with a daughter you might wish to meet. The Trenchers, whose daughter Theodora is about as angelic as ever I did see. Elfin and wee, about nineteen or twenty… perhaps too young, but she seemed sensible, and comported herself well. Enthusiastic, and outgoing, not your run-of-the-mill languidly-bored and too-elegant-for-words missy. Slews of spirit."
"Hmmm?" Burgess prompted, sounding intrigued.
"Very dark, curly brown hair, almost black, and the most amazing violet eyes," Lewrie further tempted. "Soberly dressed, when I met her, since the family's on the newly-fashionable 'respectable' side, but with excellent taste. The hints of a fine form… though I wasn't exactly looking. Met her with the Reverend Wilberforce, Clarkson, and Mistress Hannah More, that crowd…"
"You!" Burgess exclaimed, rather loudly, in point of fact. "In with Wilberforce and the Clapham Sect… that slavery abolition pack?"
"'Twas the reason for our meeting," Lewrie confessed, turning a touch guarded as he recalled that the Chiswicks had been slave-owners once and his brother Governour Chiswick was still fervidly in favour of the practice. "I've a dozen Black hands in my crew, some of them, ah… might be runaway slaves who volunteered aboard on Jamaica…"
"Well, good for you!" Burgess told him. "Horrid thing, that."
"You think so? I'd have thought…"
" 'Tis one thing to hire Hindoo labour and such, and yes, you get a slacker now and then who needs a touch-up with your quirt to keep him on the hop, but actual slavery is just… despicable," Chiswick swore. " 'Twas my parents in North Carolina who thought slaves necessary for a plantation. Mother Charlotte was born there, and used to it. Father, God rest his soul, adopted it after he emigrated to the Cape Fear, no matter what he really thought of it. And, yes… I suppose I took it for granted, as well, but…"
"You rather surprise me, Burgess," Lewrie had to confess.
"Well, times change… people change," Chiswick shrugged off. "You remember at Yorktown, those runaway slaves who served with us to earn their freedom, should we have defeated the Rebels? They served your artillery, and stood with us ready to march and volley, though I doubt they knew the first thing of soldiering, and there wasn't enough time for them to learn. God forgive me, but that was the first time I saw slaves as men, not useful animals! They'd have gladly died under arms than be taken, and returned to lashes, manacles, and slavery."
"Aye, I do recall them," Lewrie agreed. "Though, at the end, we abandoned 'em, and made our own escape."
"And, God forgive us for not even thinking of taking a single one with us," Burgess spat, turning soberly stern, after all his previous bonhomie. "Met more of them when what was left of our regiment skirmished round New York, before the surrender, and evacuation, and not one of our generals thought to include them in the terms before we sailed away, either. Then, India…