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"So what happened?"

"Ah, the estimable young captain was carried off by the Yellow Fever after he went back into the field, and Mistress Anne was seen no more about Kingston for about a year, off to Portland Bight, no matter that the slaves were still in revolt. 'Twas said Hugh came back in a furious choler and dragged her off."

"Damme, that's amazing. I'd have never thought her capable."

"When disappointed or crossed, anyone is capable, Alan dear," she told him condescendingly. "Not only capable, but eager and willing to do almost anything to get their own back."

He succeeded in getting the subject changed to one she liked a whole lot better, which did not require words, avoiding any more speculation on her offer as well. And once she took on a larger cargo of Holland gin than was good for her trim, he could leave her snoring it off. He sponged down once more, dressed and headed out, and the servant girl slipped back in the door as he slipped out, still as silent as the Sphinx. Down the steps to the courtyard with its fountain, fish pond and flower beds off which all the lodgings opened, then out the double iron gate to the bright street, which shimmered in heat.

He stood there a moment, almost sneezing at the change from a fairly cool, thick-walled building, to the sharp warmth of late afternoon.

I'm going to break this off, he decided. Good as Betty Hillwood wanted to be to him, and as wanton a ride as she was, her proposition was nothing he wanted to be part of. While he did not consider himself one of God's innocents, Betty Hillwood could make him feel like a gawking choir-boy with her sour, jaded outlook on the world, and he wasn't sure he was ready to share her state of mind.

"I mean, damme, pleasure's fine, but my God!" he groused as he began to stroll off, trying to stick to the shadows where the sun did not strike with such ferocity. I've never heard a good word pass her lips 'bout anyone or anything, have I?

He had just finished four straight hours with a woman who would fulfill his every desire, and he should have been skipping and laughing with delight at his good fortune. She had given him a chain and fob worth an easy fifty or sixty guineas, but he had little joy from it.

"I'm not one for the Blue-Devils," he muttered, pondering his moodiness. "Must be her, the sour bitch. No wonder her husband took off for the back-country, if that's the sort of thing he had to hear all the time. Well, thankee for the gift, and thankee for all the quim, Betty dear, but that's the last time I sport with you, or give ear to your poison."

Besides, he assured himself, looking for a cause for joy, wasn't he handsome and pleasing enough to have a younger and prettier wench if the humors took him again? Didn't Lucy Beauman go faint at the sight of him? He had bigger fish to fry, and Betty Hillwood was a possible embarrassment if word got out about their affair. She would be nice to look back on, but that was all.

He headed for "The Grapes," the cheery red brick inn and public house at the foot of the docks and the landing stage, for a last cool mug of ale or beer before taking a bum-boat out to Shrike.

The heat was killing, and all his pleasurable exertions had left him loose-hipped and a trifle weak in the knees, so when hearing the clatter of a coach coming down the road from behind him, he gladly shifted over towards the nearest wall, into a patch of shade, and leaned on the wall to take a breather. He turned to see if the coach would miss him in the narrow lane, and was amazed to see that the light open two-horse carriage bore Mrs. Anne Beauman and her maid. He lifted his hat and gave a bow as they neared, and the carriage squeaked to a stop, rocking on its leather suspension straps.

"Mistress Beauman, a good day to you, ma'am."

"Mister Lewrie." She beamed back at him, looking fetching in a white and pale-blue gown, and a wide straw hat that echoed her colors. "Are you forced to walk in this oppressive heat, sir?"

"Shank's ponies, ma'am, for journeys too short for a coach," Alan laughed lightly in reply.

"So formal, Alan," she admonished. "And just two days ago it was Anne. Get you in and we shall deliver you to your destination."

"My undying thanks, Anne," Alan said, as the footman got down from the rear postillion, folded down the iron step and opened the low door for him. Alan settled into the rear-facing forward seat next to a large, wrapped bundle. "I am only going to the docks, Anne, if that is not too large an imposition on your time."

"None at all," she replied, reaching over to touch his knee with her large laced fan as the coachee whipped up. "You come ashore, though, without paying court to our dear Lucy? How remiss of you," she teased.

"I only had the few hours today," Alan replied, reddening slightly.

"Then I shall not tell her I saw you, or she would feel slighted, no matter the reason." Anne chuckled, going back to fanning herself. With one backward glance, she got her black maid to adjust the large parasol over her head so the sun would not strike her and ruin her complexion.

Now why, Alan speculated in appraisal, would Hugh Beauman want to dally with one of his fancies, when he could sport with this one any night?

In bright sunlight, Anne Beauman appeared even more exotic than before, her hair and complexion dark, making Alan wonder if she were the off-spring of some island racial mix herself. Possibly some Spanish blood, or sprung from those "Black Irish" sired by the survivors of the Armada? There had been damned few Black island women that had tempted him, and he could not think why anyone would spurn the charms of such a handsome woman for those of some slave in the back-country, even if the slave was close to European. But then, why was he fond of chamber-maids and willing widows? he asked himself. Perhaps it was an acquired taste.

"Not much wind today," Alan observed as the coach clattered on its way towards the center of town. "I wonder you're out yourself."

"House-keeping errands, I'm afraid," she replied with a brief frown. "My newest gown in that bundle next to you was spotted with soup, and no one seems to be able to get it out. I was hoping my dress-maker could run up a new panel so I could wear it Sunday. And what brings you ashore?"

"Oh, just some shopping."

"Only poor shops up the way you came," Anne pointed out. "You must have been in search of a bargain."

"And a little sight-seeing. Just to get off the ship for a few hours, see some new faces."

"And did you see anyone interesting? Any new sights?" Anne rejoined, mildly amused, as though she knew what he had been doing, and with whom.

"Not much up that way, you are right," Alan replied, flushing with heat under his clothes at her probing. "Might I offer you some reward for saving me from a long, hot walk? A cool drink, perhaps?"

"There is no need to reward me, Alan, though I must admit something cool would feel welcome. I had no idea it was this hot!" Anne said, plying the fan more energetically. "Where would you have in mind?"

"Well, there's 'The Grapes,'" he suggested, unable to think up anyplace else on short notice-he had not been ashore in Kingston often enough to know all its establishments.

"Hmm," she frowned, "a sailor's haunt, I fear. Not quite genteel, is it."

"I thought it was rather nice." Alan shrugged.

"A bit too many Navy officers and merchant captains, trading factors and such. There are few places a lady may go away from home. Ah!" She brightened. "There is, however, a small public house near my dress-maker's. Baltasar's. The emigй Frenchman who is the proprietor styles it as a restaurant, quite the latest thing in Paris, he says. No lodgings, just food and drink. Can you imagine?"