Dewey Lambdin - The King`s Coat

‘Just this minute, Sir Hugo. I saw him to the door myself.’

Pilchard grinned, entering the room fully as Sir Hugo waved him forward. He laid the document before his employer like a great trophy. "Here it is, Sir Hugo. And considering his vulnerable state and the witnesses against him, I anticipate no problem there.. ‘. ’Excellent, Pilchard, excellent! Everything is in order, then.’

’All but young Alan's signature, Sir Hugo.’

’I wish you to make an addition to this, Pilchard.’

’Sir? ‘

‘Have a brandy and sit down, for God's sake," Sir Hugo ordered, irritated at the outre deference his solicitor always showed him but secretly still pleased that he could engender that sort of deference. Pilchard obeyed the instructions and took a seat on a settee, perched on the edge of the cushion with knees close together. ’The vicar came up with a most interesting suggestion, Pilchard. And a perfect excuse for Alan not to be present when this matter comes to its fruition.’

’And that is, Sir Hugo, if I may inquire?’

‘Naval service, Pilchard, naval service!" Sir Hugo boomed it with a hearty chuckle. "The boy is not come to his majority, and is overseas, preferably far overseas, on the King's business, when we enter the court. Write it up so that I am his guardian or whatever, so that his signature, which you assure me of, gives me total control over everything he is due, in the first instance, and hang the rest of what you had planned.’

’But if he survives to return to England, Sir Hugo, he is then heir, and can take you to court for all of it. I believe he should sign away all claims, as we initially laid out.’

’Now what are the odds of a midshipman returning?" Sir Hugo stood to refill his glass. "Off to the Americas, the Fever Islands, or the East Indies among all those pagan Hindoos?’

‘Not good, sir, but not certain, I'm afraid.’

’But no problem until the war is over, at any rate. He knows nothing now, and can learn nothing thousands of miles away. It strengthens our appearance, does it not, safeguarding the interests of my… son, as he fights for England, his King? Oh, shout Harroo for England and St. George! And should he survive and return, it will be much too late to do anything.’

’He is a clever little devil, Sir Hugo. God help me, but I think he may tumble to it… eventually, that is. ’

‘Then the second part, the part you first suggested to me, shall be a secret agreement between him and me, obtainable for reasons you make clear, and only the first part of the document, concerning guardianship, shall be presented in court. Surely that shall suffice.’

’I believe that would suit, Sir Hugo. Though I still worry that asking him to put his name to so many documents will bring his suspicions up-’

‘To the devil with his suspicions! The means of removal has to come up from Portsmouth, so we shall let that little dammeboy stew in his own skin for a few days. By that time I am sure he shall be most agreeable.’

There was a soft knock on the door, and Belinda entered the room, now dressed in high fashion and bearing a cloak, hat and muff for an evening out. She crossed to her father and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. He put an ann around her. ’Off, are you?’

‘Lady Margaret is giving a drum," Belinda said calmly. ’Now I shall be fashionably late for it. Did I do well, Father?’

‘Excellently well, my girl. And you shall share in my gratitude and munificence once this is behind us.’

’I never doubted it, Father." She beamed, then bade them both goodnight, leaving Sir Hugo humming to himself, and Pilchard fidgeting as he thought upon his new document's form and content.

"Where's the chamber pot, then?" Alan demanded as he was shoved into a dark: and cheerless garret servant's room at the back of the house. ’Criminals don't deserve none." Morton smirked. ’I'm sure you know about criminals, Morton, you were born one! Candles, too, and a bed. ’

‘An' why not a bottle an' some bird, an' a servant girl while you're askin', young sir," Morton jibed back. "Scandalous goin's on, I swear to heaven. Rapin' your own sister!’

‘And you the innocent babe just down from the country.

Goddamn you, fetch me light and some sort of bedding-’

‘I'll fetch yaa ticket to your own hangin', and that's all, you little bastard," Morton said, shoving him back into the dark room with a horny fist and slamming the door. "Ye'r not the high an' mighty little buck 0' the first head now, are you, young sir?" he crowed through the wood, then laughed his way down to the landing and out of hearing.

There was a thin slit of light under the door, which did little to banish the gloom of that tiny garret cell, and Alan sat down next to it, arranging his coat over his knees and chest as a makeshift blanket.

Now what the hell is this all about? he pondered again, now a bit more levelheaded than when the posse had broken in on him. Why should they all show up at the same time, as if it were arranged…? There had, though, never been much sense in the household, from the way Sir Hugo ran his own affairs to the way he allowed Belinda and Gerald to run riot with their own pleasures and interests. Sir Hugo had never shown much discipline toward them, or much affection, either, too far gone in his own cares ever to notice his children. Alan had come into the house a three-year-old waif in rags, to a paradise of food and good clothing and the life of a moneyed scion of a great man, or so it seemed. Quite a change from the parish poorhouse he had known since birth and the death of his mother (at least they'd told him she'd been poor and was dead). He had been prepared to be grateful and loving, but there had been a vast gulf that he could never bridge, made of his father's icy indifference. By the time he was breeched and off to the first in a long succession of schools he had stopped trying to bridge the gulf and only took advantage of the man's largesse. He had wanted for nothing, had been allowed to run riot like the son of a titled lord with few warnings to correct his behavior. And now, suddenly, this…? "What in hell did I do?" he asked the darkness. "Hopped onto my half sister. Well, that's almost fashionable these days, isn't it? All the good families do it, and without witnesses, too. Now I'm on my way out because of it. Why?" He tried to think that he had crossed Sir Hugo's interests in some way but could not think of any woman he had had that Sir Hugo wanted. He wasn't exactly champion wasteful with money; in fact, he had a fair amount of his allowance hidden away, since he had gotten his fingers burned gambling the year before and had lost his taste for the tables. He had not purchased anything extravagant, or at least nothing so extravagant that would make his father bite furniture over it.

God's Balls, he thought suddenly; the old fart's gone smash over some investment and I'm now expendable. He can't afford to keep all of us and I'm only half a son, not like Gerald. If I'm not careful I'll end up some drudging clerk. Maybe someplace brutal and nasty, like Liverpool. But why not just call me in and tell me I'm chucked…? He shivered with the cold, and with his misery, clamping his knees together to control his aching bladder, and waited for the dawn, soon too foxed by wine to keep his eyes open, dreaming of revenge and triumph.

It was four days before Alan was freed from his cold and gloomy garret prison to be brought down to the study. He did not make a very pretty picture by then. His light brown hair was lank about his face and his queue was loose. He wore no neckstock, and his fashionable white silk waistcoat all sprigged with red and blue flowers was crumpled from service as a pillow. His silk stockings had ladders in them, and his tightly cut grey blue satin suit looked more like a stained and bedraggled bad bargain from a ragpicker's barrow.