“After I return,” Lewrie said, getting up. “Where do ye keep your ‘necessary’?” He needed a good, long pee.
“In the bed-chamber, yonder,” Mountjoy said, rising to see him in the right direction, then sat and poured himself another cup.
In mid-pee, Mountjoy had a second thought, and shouted from the dining table to the bed-chamber. “By the way, Dalrymple told me that the Spanish authorities have sent word about Major Hughes!”
“Alive, is he?” Lewrie shouted back.
“Alive and well, and free on his parole at Málaga!” Mountjoy informed him. “And may be for some time, the damned fool.”
Lewrie returned from the bed-chamber and came to the table to pour, sweeten, and add lemon to a fresh cup. Mountjoy waved him to take the air on the rooftop gallery.
“How long?” Lewrie asked.
“When asked to declare his name and rank, Hughes said that he was a Major,” Mountjoy happily explained, leaning on the balustrade and sipping his tea. “Not a Brevet-Major, or his substantive rank of Captain, but plain Major. So, unless we’ve a Spanish officer of the same rank in custody, or several lower-ranked officers to exchange for him, I fear he’s doomed to languish. Dalrymple and the officers of his regimental mess are putting together a package for him, his ready cash, and his back-pay, so Hughes can afford decent lodgings and keep himself well-fed, well-liquoured, and amused. Now, on the off-chance that Spain becomes our ally anytime soon, they might send him back, with no exchange necessary, but…” Mountjoy said with a wry shrug. “The Spanish allowed him to send some letters to his family, and to his regimental mess, to make arrangements about his camp gear and his kit, what debts to clear with Gibraltar merchants, and such.”
“Did Hughes write to Maddalena?” Lewrie asked, “Was there anything for her up-keep?”
“Not a word, and not a farthing,” Mountjoy told him, screwing up his face in dislike for the man. “Will you tell her of his fate?”
“In passing, perhaps,” Lewrie told him, “though I doubt that she’d care overly much. He treated her callously, the damned swine.”
“In that regard, Captain Lewrie, as you are in a great many things, you are a very fortunate man,” Mountjoy gravely praised him. “Take joy for as long as orders, and circumstances, let you.”
“Thankee for the sentiment, Mountjoy, and I intend to,” Lewrie told him. “Well, now I’ve shed my anger, I’ll be off. Let me know if there’s anything in the works along your line I could help with.”
* * *
Harbour-guard work? Work my men up t’man gunboats? Lord! he thought as he strolled the quayside. He wondered how long that training would take, before he could get his ship back to sea for some of those nuisance cruises, how would he man his ship short-handed if he had to leave a sizable portion in port while he was away, and where could the men left behind be lodged without a ship? He could use the prison hulk, the old Guerrier, for a temporary barracks, but she was arsehole to elbow with Spanish and French prisoners, already, and the sicknesses that arose so readily in the hulks could kill half of them in a fortnight!
Christ, I’ll have t’be nice to Captain Middleton! he thought; All co-operative and full o’ suggestions about armin’ the damned gunboats! I’ll have t’be helpful!
That picture was just too dreadful to be contemplated. He had lost, and it irked him sorely; lost his boats, lost the transport, lost the troops, and lost his mission, reduced to being a temporary Senior Naval Officer Present, again.
Has its compensations, though, he realised, feeling a burst of whimsy; There’s Maddalena, for as long as the Navy lets that last.
He spun about from approaching the quays to take a boat out to Sapphire and set off with a purposeful stride for her lodgings, trotted up the stairs, and knocked on the door. A long minute later, and the lock was opened, and the door swung open.
“Alan! Meu querido!” Maddalena said with a surprised but instantly happy smile on her face. “So early! Come in! I was washing my hair, so excuse the way I…!”
She was clad in her dressing gown, her long, dark hair up in a towel wrap, damp underneath all from a sponge bath, and wisps of her hair wetly clinging to him as he swept her into his arms and kissed her, lifted her off her feet, and danced her round the room.
“Uhmm, what is this for, Alan?” she breathlessly asked, laughing in delight.
“Thought I’d take you out to dine, Maddalena,” Lewrie told her, leaning back a bit to savour the joy in her eyes. “Catch you before you started cooking anything, and enjoy a long, delicious dinner with you. Sound good to you?”
“Oh, yes! I would love it! I will wear my new gown, it’s the pale blue one,” Maddalena happily agreed. “I hope you will like it.”
“I’d like you in anything, Maddalena,” Lewrie vowed.
“Let me dry my hair and change,” she said, slipping away, with her hands trailing down his coat sleeves to his fingers as if loath to be separated, then almost danced behind her screen to complete her preparations. “There is wine in the cooling bucket,” she offered.
Lewrie lifted the bottle from the water bucket and poured himself a glass, then wandered round the lodgings, a grin on his face.
“Hallo, bird,” he said to the warbler in its cage, waggling fingers to lure it to the bars. “Hallo, Precious,” he said to the kitten, and tossed the cork for a toy, which got pounced and footballed in a twinkling.
“Honey, I’m home!” he whispered, immensely pleased with Life, for as long as the good parts lasted, at least.
Also by Dewey Lambdin
The King’s Coat
The French Admiral
The King’s Commission
The King’s Privateer
The Gun Ketch
H.M.S. Cockerel
A King’s Commander
Jester’s Fortune
King’s Captain
Sea of Grey
Havoc’s Sword
The Captain’s Vengeance
A King’s Trade
Troubled Waters
The Baltic Gambit
King, Ship, and Sword
The Invasion Year
Reefs and Shoals
Hostile Shores
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DEWEY LAMBDIN is the author of nineteen previous Alan Lewrie novels. A member of the U.S. Naval Institute and a Friend of the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich, England, he spends his free time working and sailing. He makes his home in Nashville, Tennessee, but would much prefer Margaritaville or Murrells Inlet.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE KING’S MARAUDER. Copyright © 2014 by Dewey Lambdin. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.thomasdunnebooks.com
www.stmartins.com
Maps copyright © 2014 by Cameron Macleod James
Cover design by Elsie Lyons
Cover photographs: A Naval Engagement, by Francois Musin (1820–88), Fine Art Photographic Library, London/Art Resource, NY; compass and paper © Tischenko Irina/Shutterstock.com
ISBN 978-1-250-03005-4 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-03004-7 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781250030047
First Edition: February 2014
The King's Marauder Page 40