"He's probably in the galley with the ship's cook, Sauder, sir," Pettus said with a shy grin. "Keeping warm and nattering over a glass of rum, sir. I mean to say, uhm… not that he's a drunkard exactly, sir, but…," Pettus stammered, thinking he'd blabbed too much.
"He's accommodated himself to life aboard a warship," Lewrie said with a chuckle. "Warrants and petty officers will always have a flask stowed away, and will take an un-regulated nip now and then. It's no matter, long as he can cook so well. I'll turn in. You and Whitsell finish up, and turn in yourselves. I can undress myself."
Still savouring the last lingering tastes of ham, potatoes and peas, fresh butter and succulent white bread rolls, a spicy vegetable and bean soup, a fish course of smoked mullet, and a cherry jumble, he went aft to his wash-hand stand, scrubbed his teeth with powder pumice and a stiff-bristled brush, rinsed, and began to undress. Quickly, for the temperature was dropping, and a cabin aboard a ship at anchor was an icebox… a damp icebox.
Lewrie usually slept nude, in better climes, but was thankful to note that Pettus had dug out a long flannel nightshirt for him, and had hung it on a row of pegs near the bed-cot. He kept his knee-high cotton stockings on, too, as he hefted himself over the railing of the bed-box and under the covers, where he found several patches of heat left by the tin warmers. Up to his chin went the blankets, a thick quilt his wife had made him long before, the heavy painted coverlet, and that fur rug, which reeked equally of camphor and… was it bear musk? North American bison?
No matter, for Toulon and Chalky were entranced by the scent, and padded all over it, sniffing and pawing, pausing to glare at him with their jaws half-open and their eyes slit in exotic pleasure.
"Do not pee on it, hear me?" Lewrie cautioned them.
"Mrr," Toulon said in ectasy; "Mrrf," Chalky added, sneezing.
"Good night, sir," Pettus softly said from beyond the partition to the bed-space as he snuffed the last candles.
"Night," Lewrie replied.
"Good night, ladies… good night, ladies. Good night, ladies, we're going t'leave you now," the parrot contibuted.
"Oh, do shut the bloody hell up!" Lewrie snapped.
"Whee-hoo!" the bird whistled back. "Good night, awrk."
Thankfully after that last utterance, the parrot quieted down, with only a few mutters and wing-flutters, and, after a few more long minutes of snuffling and exploration, Toulon and Chalky settled down, as well, curled up together in a wad behind his knees, silently grooming each other, by the feel of it through the thick covers. In darkness, and curled up in the fetal position to hug the last of the heat from the warming tins, and his own body, Lewrie could not quite go to sleep 'til he had puzzled out Arthur Ballard's odd behaviour. Not one time had he presumed upon their old friendship to call him "Alan," but "sir," even in private. Oh, back then in Alacrity, Lewrie and he were within six months of the same age, about six months as to the dates of their lieutenancies, and both of the same rank, with Dame Fortune tipping Lewrie the nod to command the saucy little converted bomb-ketch… a small vessel with a small crew, and they the only Commission Officers aboard her.
He didn't mention the trial, not once, Lewrie realised with a start; Didn't ask anything personal, either. Damme, does he disapprove o' me doin's? The scandal? Lewrie let out a little snort as he considered that Ballard might read London papers, and could have put two and two together about him and Theoni, too, no matter how salaciously veiled Mrs. Denby's article was! Christ! Lewrie thought, stiffening as he recalled how he'd caught Ballard looking about for the portrait of Caroline that usually was hung on the dining-coach partition or the forrud bulkhead over the side-board. Arthur'd always been fond of her, and they got along like a house afire, the few times we were ashore in the Bahamas, he remembered. As grave and dignified as Ballard carried himself, so much care he took with his every utterance, it was only the rare shore suppers in a chop-house, or at their rented cottage out by East Bay, when Ballard had ever let his guard down, and had japed and laughed like a normal fellow; only then did he un-bend and… smile a lot!
And the cats' odd reaction to him… God above, even that Frog agent, that fellow Brasseur, or whatever he'd called himself, who had come aboard Savage during the close blockade of the Gironde pretending to be a simple local fisherman, and had lied about the shore defences like a French newspaper… "lied like a bulletin from Paris" was the French expression… why, Toulon and Chalky had been mad for him when he came aft for a glass of rum and Lewrie's gold.
O' course, he was covered in scales, and reeked o' fish, Lewrie told himself; yet, even so… 'tis rare they run into a man they shun. Now, why is that?
As if to answer his quandary, Toulon and Chalky shifted a bit, both uttering wee sleep-whimpers as they pressed closer to each other, and him.
Arthur don't like me, for some reason! Lewrie thought, almost with an audible grunt; Can't be professional, can it? No, not him, so it must be personal. Oh, he'll do his duty, right enough, but I doubt his heart's quite in it, this time round. I'm his new captain, not his old'un, so maybe that's a wrench for him, same as for Speaks's nephews, or his Cox'n. Or his bloody parrot!
Lewrie punched his pillows into a deeper pile and dragged a few last inches of covers, and fur, half over his head, leaving just enough of a gap so he could breathe, and tried willing himself to a peaceful rest. Puzzle it out in the morning, he thought.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Delighted to welcome you aboard, Captain Lewrie," Capt. Edward Riou said with what sounded like genuine enthusiasm, once Lewrie had taken the salute of HMS Amazon's side-party. "Doubly welcome is your Thermopylae, of equal weight of metal to Amazon. You will take coffee or tea, sir, for 'tis an unbearably chilly morning."
"That'd be toppin' fine, Captain Riou, thankee kindly," Lewrie replied, shivering under his heavy wool boat-cloak.
Edward Riou was a very pleasant gentleman, though, by the way he carried himself so urgently, with every gesture and movement of his hands spare but efficient, Lewrie could quickly assume that Riou was a most active and hard-charging fellow. Once below in the great-cabins, and free of hats and cloaks, Riou appeared strong yet spare, with wavy hair thick upon his pate, and curling over his ears and neck, an intelligent high brow, thicker, darker eyebrows, and large, expressive eyes. His face was a long oval, split by a very long nose, a thoughtful sort of pose to his mouth, and a determined chin. He was scads senior to Lewrie, but showed him every sign of the nicest sort of condescension.
"There's a comfortable chair, sir," Riou offered. "Do take a seat, and we'll see you warmed up in a trice. You've replaced Captain Speaks, I take it?" Riou said, playing the perfect pleasant host.
"I have, sir, poor fellow," Lewrie told him. Riou sat down in a chair opposite, and his cabin steward was there with a tray bearing a coin-silver coffee pot, sugar, creamer, and Meissen china cups and saucers. "Cannot stand tepid coffee myself, so have a care, Captain Lewrie."
"My own preference, indeed, sir," Lewrie replied, grinning as he felt the heat through the cup. "Aah… splendid brew," he added after his first tentative sip. "Nigh to boiling, too. I do apologise if I interfere with your preparations for sea, sir, but, with neither of our admirals present yet, I thought it prudent to speak with the most-senior officer in port."
"Well, there is Rear-Admiral Graves, reputed to be on his way to us, but… for the nonce, I suppose I'll have to do," Riou said with an easy grin. "With the fleet divided into the usual three divisions… Van, Main Body, and Rear… I hear he's to be third in command, after Sir Hyde and Nelson. Pending the arrival of someone else, mind. It's all still a bit up in the air."
"Sir Hyde is not present, I'm told, sir?" Lewrie asked.
"Oh, he is, but he has not yet gone aboard Ardent, where he's hoisted his flag… temporarily," Capt. Riou said with a disappointed twitch of his mouth. "The rumour is that he's to have the London when she gets here, and will not go aboard Ardent only to have to shift all his dunnage later. He, ah… has taken lodgings ashore, at the hotel… the Wrestler's Arms," Riou added with a faint frown.