Dewey Lambdin - A King`s Commander

"You've already done that, Phoebe," he declared, though obeying her whim and shutting his eyes, allowing himself to be led inside as her "blindman's buff."

"Voilа, Alain!" she cried, giggling a-tiptoe. "Regardez!"

"Bloody…" He could but weakly gasp at the transformation.

The parlor now held cream-painted, gilded couches and chairs, upholstered in shimmery white moire silk, with gold-flecked filigrees. Deep, rich tables and chests-cherry, mahogany, or rosewood, marbled topped or delicately inlaid with precious ivory. Coin-silver candelabras, tea-things, vases, and trays… the kaleidoscopic prism speckling of late-afternoon sunlight glinted off fine crystal gewgaws, or from the magnificent gilt-and-crystal chandeliers! The sooty fireplace had been redone with new marble inlays, dressed in carved stone that was very Romanesque. There were cloisonnй, silver, gilt, or Chinese vases, cherubs, candlesticks on the mantel, below a gigantic gold-vein mirror hung above it. Paintings in baroque gilt frames, portraits, landscapes… Painted, scoured, papered in some places, elegantly draperied…! The parlor was now a showplace, and not anywhere near the gaudy he'd expected from someone of Phoebe's provincial, and untrained, background. Their plebeian lodgings had become a miniature palazzo, as genteelly elegant as any fine mansion in the whole of England!

"Sit, mon chou. 'Ere. A cool glass, n'est-ce pas?"

He had to sit; he was too dumbfounded to stand. He fell into a deep, wide, massy armchair done in burgundy chintz over priceless rosewood, so elegantly carved, his senses reeling as she dashed off to fetch him a glass of something.

Joliette appeared, prancing into the parlor with her tail erect. She hopped up on the matching hassock and hunkered down warily, barely out of reach but looking as if she might like a petting. Around her slim little ruffed neck, there was a brown velvet riband, from which hung a tiny amber cameo, set in real gold! A cameo of a cat, of course.

There came the promising thwockl of a cork being pulled, somewhere off to his right in the kitchen. And a moment later, Phoebe reappeared bearing two exquisitely cut crystal flutes of champagne, followed by a slim, dark-haired maid he'd never clapped eyes on before, who carried a most impressive silver wine tray, and a chilling bucket that held the bottle, a wine bucket as big as a coehorn mortar barrel, heavily ornamented with cherubs, pans, and grapes. Solid silver? he goggled. It had to weigh three or four bloody pounds!

"Cool, too," he muttered, after the maid had poured them both a glass, and departed without a word.

"I kep' ze bes', you see?" she informed him, waving a slim hand over her new fineries. "You like ze champagne, Alain? Bon. Ve 'ave ze dozen-dozen bottles, now. A ver' good year."

"Just how did you ever…" he began to marvel.

"I tol' you, Alain," she chided with a pleased little laugh, as she came to sit on the wideish arm of his chair and play her fingers in his hair. "Signore Buceo, 'e is 'ave beaucoup 'ouses for to rent, mais, ze йmigrйs, zey cannot afford, n'est-ce pas? I am shopping, for pretty new s'ings, 'e come to tak' ze old shabbies, as we agree. An', 'e ees afraid-ed zat what we tell 'eem ees vrai … true… zat you' Army will tak' 'ouses non rented. Zen, when I am market, I fin' so many йmigrйs impoverish… 'ave s'ings of grande value, but no monnaies, for to eat? So I mak' ze arrangement wiz ze Monteverdes at ze osteria, 'oo know ze farmers, ze shopkeepers, aussi, e voilа … ze entreprise we begin. 'E 'ave monnaies, I 'ave une peu. Pardon, but I see you' agent, 'e advance me all ze fif y pound you leave for me at firs'. Be non to worry, mon amour, I pay eet all back, wi'sin ze mont ', from my profeet," she said with another pleased chuckle, and a toying with his hair.

"You parleyed fifty pounds into all this?"

"Out," she admitted, with a proud cock of her head.

"Bloody hell, you should be in London, at the 'Change!" He gaped. "You'd make a fortune, overnight. And show them how."

"Merci, Alain, you are please-ed? Bon." Phoebe smiled, rewarding him with a fond kiss. "Now, non more trade. You' Navy, you' Army, so many at San Fiorenzo, 'oo deman' 'ouses, rooms, food an' wine. An' ze refreshment, from ze siege? Ze grande йmigrйs, zey mus' 'ave servants, pay rent, buy food an' wine. An', where are soldiers an' sailors and ze rich, zere come domestiques, chefs, ze restaurants an' cafйs… ooh la, San Fiorenzo ees awaken! Tailors an' dressmakers, zey are mak' money so quick! So, even more people come, from Bastia, Ajaccio… all need what we 'ave, comprende? Ze people 'oo are jus' depart, zey open ze maison public … ze 'ore-'ouse, wiz so many beautiful jeune filles. Maison public mus' be elegant, 'ave furnishings grande, an' I on'y am 'ave, no one else, so zey buy from moi."

"You're in the brothel business?" he yelped in alarm. "That's as good as saying we both are! Now, hold on just,.."

'Course, everyone I knew in the early days said I'd make a hellish grand pimp, he recalled, somewhat ruefully.

"Non, non," she countered heartily. "Sell, on'y ze furnishings. For monnaie, an' some wine. Wine, I sell to ozzers, at profeet. You' officiers Brittanique, mos'ly. Forgive plais, Alain, mon coeur, but…" She sobered, almost biting her lip shyly. "Mos' of zem, zey are 'aving trиs monnaies, but are… les folletes-ze leetle fools? Pay any sum I as' for zere port an' claret. An', zey mus' 'ave clubs, hein? Where officers go, when zey wish to be amusant? Zey need furnishing grande for zose, aussil An', so many gowns, an' jewelry I 'ave tak' in trade. Officers mus' 'ave zere courtesans… and courtesans mus' 'ave pretty gowns, or jewelry. Or ze les follettes, zey buy for zem, from moi."

"So, we're… you're running a secondhand shop for whores and such," he stated flatly.

"Non!" she declared, aghast, and suddenly losing her gay confidence and pride. "To shop, on'y, Alain, never to… I s'ought you be 'appy, zat I do so well. Zat I mak' ze 'ome beautiful, an' eet cos' you nossing!" She began to blubber up, her pouty little lower lip beginning to tremble. "I… I s'ought you be proud of me!"

"Phoebe…"he crooned, abandoning his champagne to take hold of her before she fled in tears, to slide her down onto his lap where he rocked her and stroked her like a heartbroken child. "There there, don't take on so, my girl. Of course, I'm proud of you. 'Bout pleased as punch, don't ye know! You're a marvel, so clever, so enterprising…"

Hold on there, he thought, though: let's not trowel it on too bloody thick! I still don't know what people think of this place. Or my association with it!

"It's just such a surprise, that's all, Phoebe. Ma chйrie," he told her softly, cradling her head on his chest. "Aye, you have done a miracle with this house! I'd not recognize it. And so tasteful! Grand as the Walpoles, grand as the richest house ever I've seen back home in England! But I thought I'd be coming back to our… to you, my girl… and our little hideaway, where we could be private and intimate. Cozy and pleasant, hey, like you said? And I find people crawling about underfoot, jam-packed to the deck heads with stuff like a chandlery, too damn' busy a bustle, bad as the 'Change back home. And some of 'em not the elegant sort you should-a lady should-be knowing. Now, where is our privacy in all that, hmm?"