King`s Captain

furrow in her brows. 'If I, if we, meant anything at all to you…'

They'd had arguments before, but Lewrie felt that this one would be memorable. So surprised was he, so betrayed by his usually supportive and admiring wife, he felt that he could only blush with shame; for she was right on the nail-head with her accusations!

'Four years on the land, you could have at least made an effort to learn the farm's ways… to uphold and aid me,' she fumed, now looking bleak and haggard in her quiet rage. She stomped past him to shut the door so the servants or children couldn't hear. 'But you didn't. You played at it! And as soon as Admiralty sounds their bosun's pipes, why off you scuttle to wear King's Coat, again, so you can stalk about your quarterdeck, relishing it!'

He would have told her that they were rightly termed the bosun's 'calls,' but thought better of it immediately.

'It's what I am, Caroline,' Lewrie said with a sigh. 'It's who you married, mind… a Sea Officer of the King and…'

'Yes, you are,' she sighed in turn, leaning on the door as if exhausted past all contemplation of future improvement. 'And a glad one… you know you are. Glad to sail away to who knows where; glad to be free of your familial responsibilities. Glad to wallow in gore and shot, expose yourself to danger, 'til it catches up with you some day… so long as you can chase after… glory! Gone so long, so far, thinking a letter every rare now and then, a pack of 'pretties' from a foreign port, atones for your absence!' she hissed.

'Dearest…'

'No thought for the ones you leave behind,' she continued, hands to her face to daub her tears. 'Now your war isn't the short one you thought when last you left us… is it, Alan?' Caroline jeered. 'God knows, another year or two perhaps. God save us, another five, ten? Another three-year commission, before we see you for a bare month, or less, before the next one, and the next one… and…! Damn you, and damn the Royal Navy, just…!'

Her anger broke in a flood of weeping, wrenching sobs that shook her frame, made her shoulders shudder. She lifted her apron's hem to swab her inflamed face, and Lewrie at last could step forward to scoop her into his arms, offer mute comfort and sympathy. He rocked her, as if dancing from one foot to the other, laid her head on his shoulder, and stroked her long, lean back-afraid to say a word more for now.

At last she made a sniffle, drew a deep breath, and sighed in resignation. 'How soon then?' she asked, in a wee girlish voice into his shirt collar.

'My reply off by afternoon post,' Lewrie speculated-gently. 'Depart by first light tomorrow, I fear. I really am sorry, dear'un. You don't know how sorry. Our joys together… us and the children… you're not the only one who misses peace and normalcy. Tranquility.'

'Do they say where you're to go?' she asked, clenching back at him, her face cooler against his at last.

'I rather doubt Portsmouth or Plymouth are in any mood for new ships to commission at the moment,' he dared to scoff. 'First, up to London… then perhaps the Nore or Great Yarmouth. Some port close to home, I'd suspect, with the French and Dutch fleets threatening us. I doubt it's to be a foreign station, not for a year or better most-like,' he told her, leaning back a bit, emboldened by her resignation to meet her eyes once more.

'So… not too far, or long, a separation?' Caroline softened, leaning back herself, for a tiny crumb of promise.

'Perhaps even close enough to get home every month or so,' he said with a shrug. 'Can't count on it, but… when winter comes down, if I'm still home-ported, the weather'll bind me in harbour for weeks at a time. We could have you and the children down to visit. School can go hang for a bit, or fetch their tutor along…'

Aye, that's the way, m'girl, he thought; perk up game, as you always do! Put the best face on it.

'Care to lay a wager with me, dearest?' he joshed, feeling he was now on safer ground. 'Lay odds with me, hmtn? I win, and I get you… with no tykes underfoot… just the two of us, for hotel weekends.'

'And what do I win if you're wrong, Alan?' she queried, still dubious, but much closer to an amused grin than she had been.

'Why, you get me, m'dear!' he promised, 'a joyous romp, so you may do what you will with me, have your beastly way with me!'

'Oh, you're incorrigible,' she sighed. But, Lewrie noted, this time it was a teasing sigh. 'I s'pose we should begin packing you.'

'Let's both pack… Hell's Bells, let's all pack, Caroline,' he insisted, all come over with inspiration. 'The overseer can deal with the farm for a few days. We'll all go up to London, perhaps beyond to my new ship, 'til I'm settled aboard.'

'Alan, I can't abandon the farm work, not now, not…' Caroline balked, but with a pensive, almost eager sound, as if considering it.

'Course you can!' he rejoined quickly. 'Extend the times we have together by a fortnight at least! The boys are out of school; you'll be free of my pesky father for a while… and when was the last time Sophie saw London? Do her good to see more of the world. Other likely young lads, hmm? Turn her head? Gawd, that'd be four birds or more with one stone, hah? Let's do, love! I'm to be made 'post,' so we deserve to celebrate!'

'Well…' She hesitated, head cocked to one side, and swishing her long tail of hair under her mob-cap. A sly smile sprang to life. 'Whyever not, then? Yes, let's!' And she sprang to her wardrobe to open it for likely gowns suitable to impress.

And thank bloody Christ that mellowed her! Lewrie thought.

He sat on the foot of the bed to sort the rest of the mail, as she measured a dress against her. Bills, mostly tiny sums, he noted; and thank God for that, else they'd not be able to afford a diverting jaunt to the city. More 'prize- money deposited in his Coutts's account by his solicitor, Mr. Mount-joy, aha! But a tithe of what he'd really reaped so far, but more than enough to offset their sudden lunatick excursion and tide the farm over for the rest of the year's needs.

'Bloody Hell!' he barked, of a sudden.

'Yes, it's much too plain,' Caroline agreed, misunderstanding his meaning and hanging the last gown she'd tried back in the wardrobe. 'Though you needn't take such a harsh tone as to…'

'No, Caroline, look!' he insisted, bounding from the bed. 'The scales are gone from our eyes, as it were. This bill from a milliner, a Mistress Cowles…'

'Quite cunning, dearest, and not really that expensive really,' Caroline continued to apologise. 'Sophie, Charlotte, and I only ordered one apiece for spring.'

'Ah, but it's not a bill, love…'tis a billet-doux,/' Lewrie cried, waving it at her. 'Wondered why a local bill needed wax seals. It's really from Harry Embleton… suggesting an actual assignation.'

'Let me see that!' Caroline demanded, fresh fury in her voice; thankfully for Lewrie, none directed at him for a change. 'Why, the conniving… hmph! See if she has our trade in future! I know she's been at her shop quite often lately, but… I hardly expected Sophie to exhibit such back-alley guile. The thoughtless, headstrong chit!'

'Like that Frog novel, Les Liaisons Dangereuses,' Lewrie scoffed, more than glad for Caroline to be on other ground. 'Lovers passed letters easier than… gas!'

'And what would you know of such scandalous scribbling… Alan?'

'Well, I heard tell…' he waffled, turtling his neck into his collar once more. 'Men talk, don't ye know… in the gunroom,' Lewrie gruffly, most off-handedly, added.

'I shall speak harshly with her about this,' Caroline promised. 'All this time I thought her sweet and naive, but now…! Warn that young miss I'll have no lies or dangerous folderol in my household! Surely she must have sense enough to see that he's so bad for her, or any true Christian young lady! I really must put my foot down in this instance… bring her up short before she…'

Uh-oh! Lewrie thought in sudden panic; and when cornered like a rat, accused of foolishness, she 'II turn and bite back and blab about Phoebe Aretino and me… for jingle-brained