The old George Inn did set the best table that Lewrie knew of in Portsmouth, which made it the favourite destination for those Navy officers who could afford to dine or lodge there, and their mid-day meal was no exception. After a good two-hour nap, a slow and languourous awakening with much snuggling, caressing, fond mutual regardings-and a delightful if conventional bout of lovemaking-Lewrie and Lydia had risen, dressed, and come down to the dining rooms, he with his sash and star of a Knight of the Bath, at her insistence, to dine.
Hopes for a good salad in mid-winter were moot, but there was a hearty and hot tarragon chicken soup, followed by servings of haddock in lemon and drawn butter, then a course of sliced roast beef, all with roast potatoes and peas, sloshed down with glasses of Rhenish and one shared bottle of claret. Lewrie went for pound cake with cream and raspberry jam, whilst Lydia settled for sweet biscuits and coffee. She was a light diner, Lewrie had noted before, always leaving portions of her dishes un-eaten, and ordering only a few items, not the usual ritual of fish-fowl-swine-roast beef or beefsteak that could take hours to put away. “But I’ve always had a light appetite,” she had explained once, and to Lewrie’s cocked brow when she’d passed on cheese and nuts this time, she leaned over to put her head close to his and said, “You must know, Alan, that I am so easily pleased,” which made the both of them laugh, no matter who else dined with them, or what they thought of their intimate moment.
“More coffee, sir?” a servant asked.
“Aye,” Lewrie agreed.
There was a bustle in the entrance hall as someone new arrived, accompanied by a blast of cold air. It was a Navy officer, a Lieutenant in his early thirties, and a pleasant-enough looking young woman with him, both swaddled in travelling cloaks. Behind them came a civilian servant bearing the woman’s luggage, and a sailor loaded down with the Lieutenant’s. Once the door was shut against the snow, they shucked their cloaks and embraced.
“A fond reunion, do you imagine?” Lydia asked him.
“Seems so,” Lewrie agreed. “Hell’s Bells!”
“Do you know him?” Lydia asked him.
“No, but his man,” Lewrie told her, plucking his napkin from his lap and dabbing his mouth, ready to rise. “He’s off Aeneas, my son’s ship!” he quickly explained.
Atop the sailor’s head was a wide-brimmed and low-crowned flat tarred hat with a long black ribbon band trailing down his coat collar. Painted in white lettering on the front of the hat was his ship’s name.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Lewrie pled, getting to his feet and going to the opened double doors from the dining room to the entrance hall.
The Lieutenant and his lady-revealed to be husband and wife, once their gloves were off and their wedding bands in plain sight-were lost in joy to be re-united, oblivious.
“My pardons, sir,” Lewrie began. “Ahem…”
The young wife spotted him and inclined her head to direct her husband’s attention from rapt adoration.
“Captain Alan Lewrie, sir. Hope you’ll forgive me for intruding on your moment, but you are off the Aeneas seventy-four, Captain Benjamin Rodgers?”
“Aye, I am, sir. Allow me to name myself to you, Captain. I am Robert Stiles. My wife, Judith,” the officer replied. She dropped a passable curtsy. “We came in just yesterday afternoon, from the Brest blockade. Do you know Captain Rodgers, sir?”
“Happy t’make your acquaintance, Mister Stiles, Mistress Stiles. Captain Rodgers and I are old friends, but more to the point is the fact that my son Sewallis, is one of your Midshipmen.”
“Oh, Mister Lewrie, aye!” Lt. Stiles said in a gush, laughing. “Forgive me for not making the connexion at once, sir. He’s one of ours, right enough, right Carter?” he said to the sailor who’d borne his shore-going traps.
“An’ a fine gennulman ’e be, sir, is Mister Lewrie,” the sailor assured him. “As smart as paint,” he added with a grin and wink.
“Glad t’hear it,” Lewrie said, a bit relieved. “I’ll attempt to get in touch with Captain Rodgers, at once, treat him to a shore supper, perhaps go aboard to see Sewallis. Thankee, Mister Stiles, and I apologise again for interrupting you and your wife. My very best wishes for a long and joyous stay in port!”
“The officer is from your son’s ship?” Lydia asked once he was seated with her again, and getting a warm-up of his coffee.
“Aye, he is,” Lewrie happily told her. “God, I haven’t seen Sewallis since May of 1803, and damned few letters from him in the meantime. Haven’t seen Benjamin Rodgers, his captain, in a dog’s age, either! The Adriatic, in ’96!” I must buy him at least one supper, with lashings of champagne, and hang the cost. He’s mad for the stuff. Won’t sail without a dozen dozen bottles in his lazarette store, ha ha!”
“And treat your son to something better than salt meats, too?” Lydia asked, looking a touch sombre.
“Of course!” Lewrie declared, his head full of plans.
“Captain Rodgers knew you early on, I think you said. When… when your wife was alive,” Lydia continued, fiddling nervously with a coffee spoon. “Perhaps I should not be present when… if they’ve kept up with the papers. I might bring bad feelings…”
He peered at her gravely, taking a long breath, then reached to take her free hand. “Lydia, I don’t give a damn what they’ve read or what they’ve heard. I’m done with mourning Caroline’s passing, and I’m fortunate enough to have met someone new who’s become dear to me. I’m not the sort t’sneak about, or shove you into an armoire ’til company’s gone, either. We’ve nothing t’be ashamed of.”
Well, in certain circumstances, I have! he remembered; Mostly the sneakin’ about bit.
“You’ve become very dear to me, as well, Alan,” Lydia told him with a fond, almost shy smile. “If you wish me to meet them and be with you, then I shall. Gladly.”
“Such a grand lass!” Lewrie congratulated her.
“Know who that was?” Lt. Stiles was telling his wife once they had gone above stairs to their temporary lodgings. “‘Black Alan’ Lewrie, the one who was tried for stealing slaves to crew his ship, and got away with it! A real fighting frigate captain, knighted and made Baronet last year. The ‘Ram-Cat’, some call him. Oh, he’s made a name for himself!”
“The ‘Ram-Cat’?” his wife asked, puzzled.
“For the scrapping way he goes after England’s enemies. Or for keeping pet cats since his first command.” Lt. Stiles breezed off.
“Well, which is it?” Mrs. Styles asked.
“I’m pretty sure it’s the scrapping,” her husband answered.
“I’ll write a quick note,” Lewrie was planning. “Two, really, and find a bum-boat t’bear ’em out to Aeneas. Or, long as I’m there, I might as well go out to her and see ’em both, first! If Benjamin has any fresh stores aboard, or the pedlars get to him quick enough, I might even get dined aboard.”
“So, you may be gone ’til dusk,” Lydia speculated, “and not be back ’til tomorrow morning? Since you cannot be out of your ship at night?”
“Oh, well, there is that,” Lewrie said back, deflating. “You would be twiddlin’ yer thumbs, with the weather too foul for shopping. Not that shopping in Portsmouth’s got a jot on London, hey?”
“Surely there are art gallerys that feature nautical paintings,” Lydia mused. “Something realistic depicting a frigate, to remind me of you when you’re gone. And realistic enough to allow me to lecture Percy on every detail,” she added with a mischievous grin and another impish wrinkle of her nose. “He’s bored me to tears with the details of cavalry saddlery, fodder, and Army drill manuals!”
“You’d go out in this raw chill? You’d catch your death!” he objected.
“And you won’t risk the same?” Lydia scoffed. “Go then, and I’ll see you on the morrow. I’ll dine in alone this evening. And I will tuck myself in with a good novel. And sleep by myself,” she said as she leaned closer, her lips curled in secret amusement. “Though I will confess that that will not be as warm, or as blissful, as that nap of ours.”
“I wish I could kiss you this instant,” Lewrie told her in a hoarse mutter, after a quick peek round the dining rooms.
“One to warm you just before you go out into the cold,” Lydia promised.
“With expectations of more, tomorrow,” Lewrie wished aloud.
“Most assuredly,” she vowed.