Cognac, 1845
Omelette surprise
Grande mamier, cordon rouge
Coupe, roi de mer Cafe Turc
Lunch Decameron
'You will observe,' said the young man, 'that you will neither die of hunger or thirst.'
The menu was indeed a surprise. Lord Reggie, who had cultivated his appetite all over the world, realised that he was in for a good thing. He smacked his lips in anticipation.
'Archie,' he began, languidly.
The young man banged his hand on the table.
'Lord Reginald,' he exclaimed, 'whether you know who I am, or whether you do not, remember that here I am “Captain” and nothing else. If I catch you calling me anything else, I'll clap you in irons, at once.'
'I'm so sorry, Archie-'
'Prendergast.'
'Yes, captain.'
'Have this gentleman put in irons at once, and release him tomorrow morning for breakfast.'
'Oh, Archie, I didn't mean-'
'Release him for lunch.'
'Oh-'
'Young man,' said Lady Tittle, 'you'll be missing tomorrow's dinner if you aren't careful.'
The man called Prendergast, a rotund personage of an extremely genial cast of countenance, punished a large cocktail severely, wiped his mouth leisurely, rose serenely, and approached the now terrified Lord Reggie.
'Archie,' exclaimed the alarmed young nobleman, 'I didn't mean-'
'Lord Reginald,' said the young man, 'you've asked for it: I shall not see you till the day after tomorrow. Prendergast, don't waste time.'
The unfortunate young peer was led away, vainly protesting, and his exit sent swift inspiration to Lady Tittle. 'Archie', of course- it was the young Duke of St Eden.
Archibald Hamilton Blackmore, tenth Duke of St Eden and possessor of a half-dozen more titles to boot, had disappeared from his own world under mysterious circumstances. His reckless extravagances had startled most of the capitals of Europe, and when the scandal about his aunt became more than whispered, he had to go. Mayfair forgot, if it didn't forgive, and Lord Herbert Blackmore, his brother and heir, a dissolute young blackguard who had the charm of manner, without the brains, of the duke, reigned at Eden Place in his stead.
This, argued the astute Lady Tittle, was obviously what had happened. Always a dare-devil, the young duke had realised on his immense colliery and London estate possessions and become a very up-to-date pirate. It was very, very interesting, and it was Hony's chance of a lifetime. The child looked deliciously fascinating and Lady Tittle saw a very sporting chance of goodbye to musty old Clouds Court, and the dowager house at Eden Place as a very much more attractive residence. She determined to keep her own counsel. No one but herself and Lord Reggie was likely to recognise the duke. Of course this piracy business could not last, but the young duke was clever enough to avoid detection, and within a year-well, what with her own tact and Hony's beauty, the latter might to be a duchess.
Dinner was served. A procession of pirates wearing white aprons attended on the wants of their comrades and guests. A distinguished-looking man, indubitably French, headed the waiters. The Marquis de — ' said the young man, presenting him, 'our chef, a cordon bleu, if ever there was one. He had the misfortune to kill rather too many of his wife's lovers; hence his presence among us. He is a really first-class cook, and though we have not the facilities of the Ritz we manage to do ourselves very nicely.'
'Ah, madams and misters,' exclaimed the Frenchman, visibly agitated, 'I am desolated; I am on the summit of desolation. Though so beautiful a dinner I have prepared, these brigands prefer their piracy, and I, though I keep him as hot as I can, I am delayed four hours; it is effrayante.'
Still, the dinner, or supper, was very good. Conversation was sparkling and bright; rather risky at times, possibly, for the Sisters Lovett didn't spare the liqueurs, and Lady Tittle just doted on the Veuve Clicquot. She had just finished, for the third time, her story of the late Empress of-and the black groom, when one of those very sudden, and very awkward silences fell over the assembly.
It was broken by a loud and startling detonation, followed by a clicking noise like the falling of small pieces of broken glass.
Herr Kunst sprang to his feet, while all eyes turned to him. It was obvious that he had farted. Lady Tittle thought that he was about to leave the room; but no. The agitated German fell upon his knees on the floor and grabbed frantically about the carpet. The astonished company noted the glitter of diamonds. Herr Kunst-over-enjoying his dinner-had let a really remarkable fart, and bang had gone the diamonds from their snug retreat, thence, per his trousers, to the floor. It was impossible not to laugh, and even the ladies joined in the general mirth, meanwhile helping Herr Kunst to recover his treasures.
'Don't you worry, mein Herr,' said the young man, reassuringly. 'I gave my word that no valuables should be seized, and however many thousand pounds' worth you may have on your-er-person, you can rest assured that they will be perfectly safe. Possibly my safe may prove a more secure resting place than any portion of your anatomy.'
The young man had been on the Rand, and knew a bit about hiding places. He had guessed at once what had happened.
The stewards assisted Herr Kunst to recover his treasures and, with a sigh of relief, he replaced them in his pocket, exhibiting no shame for his exhibition of artillery.
The dinner did not occupy much time. The various courses were very quickly and deftly served by white-aproned pirates. Lady Tittle thoroughly enjoyed herself and drank for too much Veuve Clicquot-led on by the pressing of the bosun, who was heading the waiters. Hony and her flapper friend were overwhelmed by the delicate attentions of the exquisite young ecumeurs de mer, and the Sisters Lovett got frankly drunk. What conversation there was became markedly lascivious, and Carrie Francks had to ward off a marauding hand from each side before the omelette. Hony gave herself to being surreptitiously felt, and spent copiously, from the asparagus onwards.
A blue-chinned, sinister-looking pirate sat next to Lady Tittle and, with his second cognac, became flippant. Lady Tittle had recognised him at once as a well-known acting manager, whose wife had fucked him into society, but who had had to leave the circle of the blessed because of a little aventure galant with twopenny worth of tramping trollop off Pont Street.
His long, sinuous hand wandered on to Lady Tittle's knee. She snapped, 'Please remember, Mr. Forest, that this is a tablecloth, not a sheet!'
There was a rustle of sh! sh! The young man intervened.
'No names! Please no names. Lady Tittle, remember that we are all incognito here.'
The dear old lady, remembering the fate of Lord Reggie, forbore, and put paid to her third cognac.
A delicately-veiled glance from the young man conveyed to her ladyship that it was tune for her to gather up her flock.
A smile to Miss Jepps and a sumptuously froufrouy uprisal from that young lady gathered the womenfolk together.
'I will show you to the music-room, my lady,' murmured one of the smart stewardesses.
The ladies left.
The pirates and their male guests, left alone, gathered closer together. The young man, leaning his elbow on the table, delicately balanced his glass of Punch Decameron, a delicious iced punch, made according to a recipe known only to one of the pirates, who had stolen it from Blanchards just before the knowledge reached him that a warrant was out for his arrest.
'Gentlemen,' he said, 'just one toast to our better acquaintance, and then I think we will go to the library.'
They drank the toast of the three consonants-L.F.F.:
'Luck, fuck and a fiver'-with no heeltaps, and the young man led the way to the library.
The library on the New Decameron would have delighted the most exquisite amateur of the arts. It was a large, lofty chamber, extending, like the saloon, the entire breadth of the ship. The New Decameron, being turbine-driven and carrying no bulky cargo, had, save her coal lockers, which were also comparatively small, owing to the fact that she carried in addition to her ordinary coal a large quantity of compressed fuel, very large accommodation for staterooms.