In an incredibly short time, it seemed, there was a space of black water between them and the crippled liner, now an imitation Brock's by benefit of flashing searchlights.
'Bloody fool,' said the young man, sotto voce. 'He'll only get the Frenchman or the German back to him. They can only take his mails and send a wireless message back to Sandy Hook for help, and God help the firm when the salvage bill comes in!'
The white water stood up on each bow of the launch, and Hony Tittle had already been kissed by an elegant young pirate, who smelt of some quite delicious perfume-to the annoyance of Miss Jepps-while Lord Reggie Cameron discovered an old friend in one of the crew, who had left the army because-well, he played pool too well-and the clean-built hull of the pirate ship loomed up above them.
As the motor headlight swept the sides of the ship, Lady Tittle noted the name: the New Decameron.
She began to be more than agreeably amused.
The young man handed her on to the gangway, and in quite a few minutes the new pirates had been escorted to the saloon, the boats swung up to the davits, the plunder temporarily stored on deck, and the hum of the turbines showed that the yacht, or whatever it was, was under way with a vengeance.
Herr Kunst rubbed his hands with some satisfaction. He had carefully secreted his most valuable packet of diamonds up his arse, and his natural instinct for robbery coincided well with the promise of this new adventure. He had been in many things worse than piracy on the high seas, and always come out top dog-'You don't go in for illegal diamond smuggling or running contraband of war for nothing,' he reflected.
The young man explained briefly to the assembled twelve-Madge had been given into the charge of an elderly stewardess-that the nature of the cruise would be explained to them at supper, which would presently be ready. In the meantime the men were shown to their cabins and the ladies handed over to delightfully pretty stewardesses. When Lady Tittle and her daughter-who would rather have remained with the pirates-reached their stateroom, they found Madge waiting for them.
It was a large and charming cabin: a few good water-colour drawings hung on the walls; the appointments were all perfect, and the comfort seemed absolute. Hony was charmed; this adventure seemed far better than going back to her convent in Belgium-nor had she forgotten that kiss in the boat.
'Supper,' said Madge, 'will be ready in three-quarters of an hour,' so she had been told by a 'very nice young man, who didn't look at all like an ordinary steward.' Madge further volunteered the information that 'all the gentlemen seemed very much like gentlemen indeed.'
Lady Tittle thought a lot. Pirates or no pirates, there might be worse jobs for her daughter Hony than to marry a pirate who had a yacht, or whatever it was, like this. Everything pointed to wealth. He might have been expelled from Eton but that happened to so many boys. Her own son-well, Lady Tittle was a woman of the world-and she had realised that 'boys would be into boys' when he came home in the middle of the term, having been discovered in flagrante delicto with a pretty little boy who had the next room. She quite endorsed the theory of a one-time captain of Harrow-we won't mention names, but it was a very well-known one-who in all seriousness suggested to the head that, considering the epidemic of sodomy at the time existent in the school, it would be better that the elder boys were allowed an occasional whore, which, if against morality, was not against the law of the country.
The head didn't quite see the point, and the boy, having in a moment of exasperation told him to Oscar himself, was summarily removed from the school.
Still, young Lord Tittle was now quite a respected member of society, and judging from the number of chorus girls he got in the family way, he couldn't have much time, or spare ammunition, to waste on members of his own sex.
'Decidedly,' argued Lady Tittle, as she unscrewed the top of her field glasses-made to hold one pint-and had a refreshing nip of Hennessey's twenty-five-year-old (this book does not charge for advertisements, but the author can be 'got at' for the next), 'decidedly Hony ought to land that young man.'
'He may be a duke in disguise,' she reflected, trying to recollect what members of the peerage had recently disappeared, and remembering the case of the young Duke of St Eden, who had raided twins out of his maiden aunt.
He, the missing duke, she knew, was tattooed down the back with a representation of a fox hunt-die fox was just disappearing up his Oscar's joy. It might be him. She decided to make enquiries of the elderly stewardess.
Lady Tittle was herself in evening dress, having had no time to change. Hony, of course, being only a child-in years-was not Lady Tittle decided that this must be rectified. The extraordinary atmosphere of this novel situation set all the wickedness in her blood aboil. Whether there were other women on the boat besides the captives from the Mesopotamia, she did not know, she had seen none, but there were plainly quite a number of men with Hony she meant serious business, but for herself-well, she was middle-aged and she could do with a bit of promiscuous fornication. After all, there was bound to be a sensation in Europe when this abduction was known, but who was going to know minor details?
Her legs twitched at the thought, and her drooping bosoms stiffened. She was a good sailor-nothing made her sick-and if she was going to have a succession of nice young pirates between her thighs, a succession of hot kisses on her still ripe, red, luscious lips, and genial dirty talk in bed-well, she was game to go on being a female pirate for ever.
Picking up her skirts, she smoothed her still well-rounded calves, and looked at Hony, envying the girl her years. Hony had all the family beauty of her father's line, and the Tittles had been famous for centuries for looks.
John Manners Tittle, of Uppleford, in Devon, left early an orphan and become very dissolute by reason of bad companions, came first to court in the reign of King James I. That dirty-minded old Scotch monarch soon spotted the very handsome youth and made him a favourite. He, in common with others, had to submit to the king's caresses, and a sore arse was rewarded by a peerage. He took the family name for title, as his estates had come into the hands of the horde of Scotch money-lenders who had followed James to England.
His son became a familiar of the second Charles, and on Mistress Kate Richards, the actress, giving birth to a daughter to the king, Lord Tittle was offered an earldom if his son, then a little boy, would marry the illegitimate baby. Hence the Earls Tittle, of Castleford, an estate estreated from a Scotch money-lender by Charles II.
The union of the handsome Lord Tittle with the child of the beautiful actress produced a race that became famous for its good looks, and the last earl was no discredit to his forebears, who had fucked and fought their way from the Stuarts to the Guelphs.
The present Lady Tittle could not boast of much winsomeness herself, but Hony-Hony was a veritable feast for the gods-still, what about evening dress? Hony hadn't got one, and Lady Tittle quite appreciated the fact that the child, though tall enough to go into one of her own, must certainly show her dainty little legs.
Hony was five foot to the inch, and Lady Tittle recollected in a flash of inspiration that the Sisters Lovett, the last of the captives, were practically the same and were possessed of many stage frocks of an exceeding saucy and decollete nature. They would not mind lending one to the daughter of a countess.
At the bidding of Madge the sisters were summoned, both rather flustered and untidy. It was hinted in preliminary conversation that the pirates had been gallant- tres gallants. They were delighted to lend dresses, and presently a large basket, borne by two pirates, obviously gentlemen, made its appearance.