Dewey Lambdin - King`s Captain

"Yayyss, well, there is that," Sir Hugo allowed, with a rueful smile of reverie. "Harrow, especially, hey? Boom! You were ever the rebellious young dog. Once Hugh's eighteen though… we could buy an Army commission. Captaincy first… then a majority, as he seasons."

"There's Sewallis to think of first. Two more years and he'll be due for a proper school. When he's twelve. Mature enough to stand up to the bullies he'll meet, sure as Fate."

"We'll see him right," Sir Hugo offered. "Damme, what's money for if not t'see yer children well-placed, well-educated? And ease the first few hurdles? Money and influence. Grandchildren, rather. I will put up half his tuition and such… a modest allowance too, for both the boys. Charlotte, too, when it's her time to be shipped off to be 'finished.' '

"Why, that's… that's magnanimous of you, Father. I…"

"Told you long ago, Son. Would've bought you a bloody pony and cart, was that what you wished." Sir Hugo sighed, drawing a plaid kerchief from his sleeve for a blow of his drink-veined nose. "Wasted my youth, me best middle years. I'll probably waste my dotage too, do I not look sharp about it. Wasn't much of a father to you, and that's a God's honest truth, hey?"

"A-bloody-men," Lewrie snorted back.

"Made up for't, after me own fashion… in India."

An orgy with the three girls of his private bibikhana, as Lewrie recalled it; a cut of the best loot from the Mindanao pirates' hoard, after they'd slaughtered 'em at Balabac; and aye, some of Caroline's most impressive jewelry from that…

"Ah, but yer too old an' jaded to spoil now, Alan, me dear," Sir Hugo scoffed, playfully tipping his son's cocked hat half over his nose. No, I'm not! Lewrie thought; have a stab at it!

"Sewallis and Hugh, now… second chances?" Sir Hugo went on, sounding regretful, but hopeful too. "Reason I bought land here, do you see. Might have been a horrid father… and a shite-arsed husband a time'r two. But! I might just make a hellish-good grandfather… do you not mind. Be around when you can't be. Take a tad of the wind out of Master Hugh's sails… that the way you tarry sorts express it? But a tad. Sewallis, well… impart of a dab o' backbone, a pinch of confidence now and again. With an heroic sailor for a father, and… dare I say it… an heroic soldier for a grandfather, that might inspire him. When you're at sea… I could stand in your stead…? Nought to undermine Caroline, o' course, but…?"

"You'll not turn 'em into Corinthians, swear," Lewrie dithered, torn between acceptance of the peace offering (and the largesse which went with it) or in shouting, "No way in Hell!" for what deviltry Sir Hugo still had fermenting in his breast, no matter his high-flown sentiments.

Look how I turned out! he pointed out to himself; and that with him being there but a tenth of the time! Now, "watch-and-watch"…

"Like I did with you, d'ye mean?" Sir Hugo scoffed. "God, was yer own doin', that. I merely set you the example…"

"A bad'un," Lewrie reminded him, smirking, even so. "Good God, most tykes don't get even that, so sing small and be grateful!" his father japed in mock-seriousness. "Half that due to no mother in the house t'moderate. Your own mother, then old Alice… up and dyin' too."

"Well…"

"Aye, 'tis a rakehellish life I've led, Alan. Not that it was not the grandest fun, mind. I've one true son I know I sired, turned out decent. One step-daughter a ten-guinea whore now… and Gerald. Wherever he's got to, he's most-like but one step away from swallowin' frogs at fairs for tuppence. But here you are with a fine wife and three fine, healthy children, who'll be raised decent. I've no livin' relations, no wife, no one to leave a farthing to, and a bit too old t'be startin' a new family for myself, d'ye see. Christ, money! All I've to show for my life is the bit o' 'tin' I gathered soldierin'. Like muckin' out abattoirs, though the pay's better, sometimes. Well, a slew o' 'tin,' to be frank about it. 'Cause I was ever fortunate t'be in the right places and light-fingered t'boot! Should have written first 'bout my intentions… should you've said 'no,' then I would never have come here, but…"

How much "tin"? Lewrie wondered; you a "chicken nabob"?

"Odd way t'get a ready-made family, though… for what, nine or ten thousand pounds?" Lewrie asked, one brow up. Gently probing.

"Nearer to twelve, all told." Sir Hugo shrugged. "Drop in the bucket. Balabac… rebel rajas' palaces… good fortune in the opium trade to China? I could have bought Phineas's estate entire… lock, stock, and barrel… and still have had plenty left," he boasted.

"Christ!" Lewrie exclaimed, with a low whistle. All his prize-money- should it ever be adjudged and sent to him, mind!-and he'd still be a beggar compared to… "Well, then… I 'spose… you'll not turn Hugh towards cavalry, hear me? He's much too clever for that."

"No, I'll leave that to the likes of Harry Embleton, Son." Sir Hugo laughed, much relieved that he had, in essence, "bought" himself a ready-made family after all. And assuaged his conscience, Lewrie surmised; though he was never quite sure if Sir Hugo truly had one or was merely hymn-singing from memory of how proper folk did things!

"Damme'f I don't like Sir Romney toppin' fine, but… there's a good chance the best part o' Harry ran down the footman's leg. Sort o' dim bastard that turns up in the mess as a Cornet o' Cavalry-so stupid that even the others notice." Sir Hugo guffawed.

"Well, then…" Lewrie summed up, reaching for his reins. "I s'pose we should be going. 'Fore they maim each other, hmm? See those otters of yours at play? Boys? Saddle up!" he called.

"Erm… thankee, Alan," Sir Hugo said, offering his hand.

"Not much I could do about it now you've already bought land, is there?" Lewrie sighed, as he swung up atop Anson. "Sorry. Didn't quite come out right, did it? Force of habit… t'be on tenterhooks around you. Wary. It'll take gettin' used to, Father," Lewrie replied, offering his hand. "Mind now, Hugh's not to have an otter pup. Not take one home. Just 'adopt' one… up here at his grandfather's. You'll not encourage him, will you?"

"Son!" Sir Hugo shied, acting much maligned. "Moi?"

L ewrie went over the farm's books the next morning in his study. The entries were in Caroline's neat, copper-plate script-or in their overseer's awkward scrawl. Receipts for seed and such were arranged in one pile and receipts for the sale of sheep, cattle, hogs, wool, corn, and such were in another. Caroline sat by the open double-doors facing the gardens by the side of the house on the west side, knitting and playing games with Toulon, who was mellowing to house-life, and farm-life, quickly.

Keepin' her eyes on me? Lewrie wondered, T'see do I smile or do I glower! And glower over what? He almost shivered, recalling their first "post-honeymoon" spat in the Bahamas, when he'd come home from three months amidst the "down islands" and hadn't appreciated what-all she'd accomplished to turn a rented coach-house into a showplace, had erred by jibing her over the odd pastel the house had been re-painted, as if he were an uncaring cad and she too hen-headed to run their house, present him with a going concern that anyone would be proud of.

"Does something particular trouble you, dear?" she asked, one brow up and her voice a bit hesitant. Not so hesitant, though, that she didn't sound… resentful that he might have found something amiss.

"Just as Governour said," Lewrie admitted, tossing away the newest ledger and leaning back in his chair to puff his lips, frustrated. "Taxes, labour costs. Damme, do we double our profits… as you have done, my dear," he complimented her, and meant it, which eased her greatly. "With the prices we got, at pre-war tax rates and pre-war wages for workers, we should've cleared over Ј300… not Ј200 this past year. Head above water yet… and all that, but… Damme, I wish workin' for a naval hero'd be worth something!"