"Uhni, no, sir… Your Excellency… none I'm aware of, unless a letter is in that package, to be relayed to you through Sir William."
Lewrie felt a sudden urge to fan himself with his hat and tug at his too-tight neck-stock. So much for "sportin' showy," he sighed.
"Ah, surely, though," Sir John sighed in concert, all but biting his thumbnail, and turning a hopeful eye on Sir William. "As events develop… but no? How distressing."
"Sir John, old fellow, Admiral Lord Hood would certainly not be guilty of presuming to speak beyond his brief," Sir William assured the younger man. Lewrie thought Acton was in his late thirties or early forties; Sir William Hamilton in a spry sort of sixties. "Events are, as you say, developing quite nicely, in point of fact. Our ambassador to His Most Catholic Majesty in Madrid, Lord St. Helens, encloses his latest success. The Spanish are in, at last."
"Aha!" Sir John smiled, gaining enthusiasm.
"We were given signal books, so we might speak any Spanish ship we met, Sir William," Lewrie offered.
"And did you meet any, Leftenant Lewrie?" Sir William smiled.
"Aye, sir… a whole fleet of them. Seventeen sail of the line, with frigates, on our passage here. On the second of July."
"Already at sea, aha!" Sir John exclaimed.
"Uhm, on their way back to Cartagena, Your Excellency. Their hoist said they had scurvy aboard, and were running short of rations. They'd been at sea a little less than two months."
"Aha," Sir William sighed, much less cheered by that news. In point of fact, quite deflated.
Lewrie shrugged his comment; what could one expect of Dons? A damn' fine-looking fleet of ships, but the men…! The officers, and such. Scurvy? After less than two months at sea? PuhMease!
"Yet Admiral Lord Hood is by now, surely, off Toulon and Marseilles," Sir William continued. 'To blockade the ports, bottle up the French Mediterranean fleet in Toulon… or bring it to battle, should they come out. He has succeeded in joining his scattered squadrons and uniting them as one. Twenty-two sail of the line. And, Sir John, we both know, as does Leftenant Lewrie, that when the Royal Navy gets to sea, there they stay. I am most confident the Spanish fleet will, after replenishing stores at Cartagena, be able to join him off Cape Cicie, creating an irresistible force. Or carry ashore, as… hmm."
"Une flotte respectable, Sir William, mon cher…" the prime minister blathered on for a moment, "as we tentatively agreed."
Oops, ah shit, Lewrie cringed; time for me to scamper. They want to talk something secret, and I shouldn't be privy to it. Aye, look at the scowl on Hamilton 's phiz.
"Your Excellencies, I think I'd best take my leave now. Our ship will of course remain at Naples until you may have despatches for us to carry to Lord Hood, Sir William. May one of your aides introduce me to your embassy's shore agent? I would like to arrange for wood and water, and for our purser to replenish stores."
"Leave for your crew here in Naples, as well, Leftenant?"
"Well, uhm…"
There came a knock on the door, and the flunky reappeared, most hideously humble, bowing and scraping. "Excuse me, Your Excellencies, but this note just came for the naval person? Quite urgent, I think."
The naval person, indeed, Lewrie fumed as he opened the note!
"Christ," he whispered, wiping his brow. Mister Pruden had looked in on Captain Braxton, and his prognosis was grim. The captain needed a physician, instanter, else…
'Trouble aboard your ship, sir?" Sir William asked.
"The captain, Sir William," Lewrie had to confess. Damnit all, he would be the very last to miss Braxton, should he pass over… do a little hornpipe of grief, perhaps?… but he couldn't ignore this. That'd be as much as if he'd murdered the man, by neglect!
"He is ill, Sir William. Our surgeon urgently requests a physician, someone experienced with malaria. An old fever, come back-"
"Aha, so that is why you present yourself in his stead!" Acton exclaimed with sudden understanding, clapping his hands, foreign-like. "You wished to save his honour, not knowing how sick he was. Hoping he is better on the morrow, hein? You must be tres… very loyal to him, I am thinking. How admirable. Does he not appear so, Sir William? And to inspire such loyalty… what a remarkable man his captain must be!"
Bloody Hell, are you dense as marble, Lewrie gawped to himself.
"Such loyalty towards one's superior is a given, which goes in our Royal Navy without notice, Sir John," Ambassador Hamilton boasted gruffly, though with a soft twinkle in his eyes. "I do allow, though, that such a touching and fiercely protective loyalty as the leftenant manifests towards his captain may only be construed as the merest indication of Leftenant Lewrie's true qualities. Which I find, sir, are as commendable and admirable as ever I did see in an English gentleman."
"But, I merely…"
Shut UP, fool, he warned himself! Aye, give a dog a good name! They want to think well o' me, then who am I to complain?
"I merely… you are too kind, Sir William," he said instead, all but scuffing a toe in modesty, as he strove to evince a seemly and humble blush. The irony of the situation, and that too-tight neck-stock, helped, as he ducked his head like a stableboy.
"I insist, Sir William, that you allow me to suggest the offices of signor dottore Spadolini to see to your captain," Acton offered.
"Your court physician?" Sir William posed dubiously. "Surely, with Her Majesty so near her time, ahem… still racked with grief over the death of her dear sister… perhaps it might be better were my own physician, dottore Granuzzo, to attend him. Else, we might lose an heir to the throne. We could have him moved here, to Palazzo Sessa."
"Perhaps it might be best, Sir William, to have your physician come out to the ship first," Lewrie countered, fighting a smile over the thought of Braxton being physically removed from his ship, of coming to his senses ashore, and wondering if Cockerel had mutinied once more, and sailed off and left him! "He may be too ill, for a time, to be moved."
"I will see to it, at once, Leftenant," Sir William announced, picking up a tiny china bell to ring for a servant, "hi either case, your ship will remain in port, anent your captain's health… and how certain pending matters of state… uhm, develop. And what despatches I may have, regarding those selfsame developments, for Lord Hood."
"I, and Cockerel, are at your disposal, Sir William," Alan said.
"And for your generosity of spirit, Lieutenant Lewrie," Sir John rejoined, " Naples is yours to command. What service may our kingdom do the Royal Navy? There was talk of shore leave, before we were interrupted."
"Well, milord, there's firewood and water, the usual plaint," Alan replied with a small grin. "Our purser, Mister Husie, would always wish to go ashore, to replenish stores, purchase livestock for fresh meat and such. I had hoped, once we'd provisioned, to allow our crew out of discipline for a day or two. Not shore leave, though…"
"Send your purser to our shipyard, sir," Sir John offered with a grand, expansive spread of his arms. "Your ship purchases nothing. We will gladly offer you the bounty of Naples. Fresh meat and bread, vino…"
"God bless you, Your Excellency, I am overcome by your generosity," Lewrie declared happily. Sure, too, that Mister Husie would also be turning St. Catherine's wheels over free victuals.
"And for yourself, sir?" Sir John went on, tapping himself on the side of his nose cagily. "I know what sailors most desire, having once served in deprivation, aha… you see?"
"To sample the cuisine of Naples, Your Excellency. To try some new dishes. Eat my way back aboard ship, I should think," Lewrie said, beaming now, happy as a pig in the corn-crib. "I've simple needs."