“I suppose. But there are so many traders out here we deal with. I’ll have to write Father about him.”
“Well, let’s get some wine aboard, and see what the buffet has to offer. Oh, Lord, look at the ‘cat-heads’ on that woman!”
Purnell stared openmouthed at a slim woman in her thirties who sported a pair of breasts that looked as large and firm as apples, half her globes swelling above her gown and thrust forward proudly. They almost could make out a hint of her rosy aureoles.
“My, yes,” Tad breathed, close to fingering his crotch.
“Don’t do that, they’ll all want some,” Lewrie warned him, seeing his strangled expression.
“Do you … think tonight has possibilities?”
“Definitely.” Lewrie smirked, worldly-wise.
“I see no young ladies my age.” Tad frowned.
“And damned lucky you are, at that. Last thing you want is a young girl. Hold hands, giggle, and that’s all.”
“Oh?”
“Half these ladies are escorted by officers or husbands who could have you flogged to death if you even breathed on ’em. Now that leaves about half to choose from. Older ladies have a great fascination with younger men, Tad,” Lewrie said, piling tasty morsels onto a plate. “And should one of those take a fancy to you, while her husband is off doing something grand for King and Country, and discover that it’s your first time, I swear you may not survive her kindness.”
“Oh, I didn’t consider a married lady, Alan. That would be a sin. I thought we’d find a young whore. I mean, doing it with a married lady would be a mortal sin.” Tad fidgeted.
“Would it be a sin with a widow?” Lewrie asked, nibbling on some shrimp as they grazed their way down the long food-laden table.
“Well … I’m not sure.” Tad fidgeted some more.
“There are all kinds of widows, Purnell. This hock is iced, by God. Marvelous.”
“You were talking about widows,” Tad said, taking a glass of wine without caring what it was.
“Well, some have lost their mates to the Grim Reaper, naturally,” Lewrie said, leading him to a quiet corner where they could munch and drink without being trampled by the crowd, “but there are some widows who have lost their husbands … some become enamored of someone prettier, or younger, or they have chased after their careers or money or a peerage to the total exclusion of their wives’ happiness. They have committed the greatest sin you can inflict on a woman still ripe and comely, Tad. They have shunned them, ignored them, denied them.”
“Well, I suppose, if the husband was really tired of her…”
“Consider a woman who enjoys a romp, and affection and loving, all the folderol … being cast aside like an orange that has been sucked dry. There is a woman who is as much a widow as the natural kind, mourning the loss of everything she staked her life on, and some of them are just aching to get their own back. Somewhere here, tonight, Tad, there are women exactly like that, just waiting to find a strapping little chub like you,” Lewrie beguiled, nigh mystically.
Purnell’s eyes cut about the room. He finished his wine in two sips. “But what if she doesn’t find me attractive, or I don’t like her, or something?”
“We shall do our best for you, Tad. Now go slow on the wine. You need oysters and some of those spicy kickshaws to raise the heat of your blood. And we can chat up a few now, ’cause we’re going to get seated far below the salt at this party.”
* * *
Their end of the long table was definitely below the salt. The rich, the high-ranking and the glittering were near the head of the dining room on either side of Sir Richard and Lord Cantner in plum satin, and his wife, who was a raven beauty with an adventurous look to her eyes. No wonder the old monkey brought her, Lewrie thought; were she my wife I wouldn’t let her out of the room by herself …
Their closest dinner companions were less impressive socially, an older couple from the Customs, a magistrate and his wife, a matron named Gordon with her daughter, both of whom would serve, if one didn’t mind “country-puts.”
Purnell was seated next to a sleepy old gentleman said to be some sort of banker—it didn’t matter much because he could barely open an eye to survey his plate. But on Purnell’s other side was a lean older woman named Mrs. Hillwood who at one time must have been a great blond beauty. During the course of conversation they learned that her “lawful blanket” was off in the wilds inland doing plantation-type things, and had been for some months. To Alan’s left was a woman named Haymer, a short, plump and fetching woman in her late thirties, Lewrie guessed, done up nicely in white taffeta with burgundy ribbons and flounces. It seemed her husband was also off on business in the Americas. Hmm … possibles? Alan thought.
Halfway through dinner Lewrie had to nudge Purnell to open his mouth and speak to Mrs. Hillwood instead of feeding like a beast. He felt a kick back under the table, and looked up to glare at Tad, but instead met the steady gaze of Mrs. Hillwood.
“That appears such succulent pork before you, Mister Lewrie,” Mrs. Haymer said to his left. “Do be a dear and carve me a small slice.”
“Delighted, Mrs. Haymer. In fact, I may assay a bit myself.” As she offered her plate to him, she leaned toward him, pressing her bosom against his arm. We’re aboard! he exulted.
“How clumsy of me,” she said, dropping her napkin.
“I’ll fetch it. Allow me,” he offered, bending over and wondering if he should attempt a small squeeze right away. But in reaching for it, Mrs. Haymer’s hand brushed his thigh, and stayed to linger.
“Such a wonderful texture,” she sighed, after chewing a bite of her pork. “I think it is dreadful that poor young sailors such as you never get any fresh food.”
“It is a great trial, ma’am,” he sighed right back. “And then there are Banyan Days, when not even a morsel of meat is served, no matter how long in-cask.”
“Scandalous,” she replied, locking her gaze firmly on his eyes. “How relieved you must be to dine well when ashore.”
“Indeed, ma’am,” he told her softly, shifting his gaze to her ample bosom, “the mere sight of all this bounty has raised quite a passion in me to eat my fill without inhibition.”
That bosom heaved deeply at his words, and a fine sheen of sweat broke out on her upper lip. She hoisted her glass and drank deep.
“We were happy that our captain received Sir Richard’s invitation,” Lewrie went on. “Poor sailors are dependent on the generosity of others for such a feast.”
Lewrie glanced about the table to see if his wooing was making any comment, but the sleepy old gentleman had succumbed to wine fumes, and sat snoring with a hand clawed about the stem of his empty glass. The Gordons did appear mildly shocked and were busy looking elsewhere, as though Mrs. Haymer was “no better than she ought to be” and had tried this on before. Mrs. Hillwood across the table gave him a barely noticeable shrug, then turned her attentions to Tad. Her left hand went below the table, and young Tad suddenly looked as though he was about to strangle.
“You must rejoin your ship tonight, Mister Lewrie?” Mrs. Haymer asked in a very soft voice.
“Sir Richard and my captain are old friends, ma’am. He has offered us the hospitality of his house for the night.”
“How generous of our host. I am told that he is scandalously rich and has the most blessed luck at getting ships across the ocean without loss. I admire generosity.”
“In the giving or in the receiving, ma’am?”
“Both,” she said, dimpling prettily and blushing. “The gardens here are most beautiful. Too bad you could not see them in daylight.”