Sea of Grey

whilst the bulk of the street still lay in darkness, here and there pinpricked by only a few faint lanthorns by the entrances to homes or commercial establishments, and upon the quays, where false dawn drew black-on-charcoal traceries of rigging and masts aboard the ships that lay alongside.

Tiny, glim-like lights glowed at taffrails and entry-ports on those docked vessels; a few more ghosted across the harbour waters as guard boats rowed about to prevent desertion or smuggling. Hired boats and ships' boats stroked or sailed to and fro, even at that ungodly hour, bearing officers ashore, or taking officers or mates from a night of shore comforts, perhaps even pleasure, in Sheerness.

Barely visible against the darkness, and a fine sea-haze off the North Sea, fishermen were setting out, no matter the cold or the risk, to dredge, rake, or net a meagre day's profit. Some sailed, a very good omen, with tiny masthead lanthorns aglow that created eerie tan blots of lit, shivering canvas-while the boats were invisibly dark-as if a plague of weary Jack O'Lanterns were on the prowl.

There was a decent slant of wind, out of the Nor'Nor'east for once; not enough to dissipate the cold sea mists, nor enough to toss the many ships anchored in the Little Nore or Great Nore, but it'd do, for Lewrie's purposes; and after the night before…

Lewrie heaved a troubled but mostly contented sigh, recalling.

There had been a fine sunset, rare for winter, as red as any one could wish, that had lingered for an hour or more, much like a summer sunset; 'Red Skies At Night, Sailor's Delight.'

And wasn't it just! Lewrie told himself.

The glass barometer filled with coloured water by the door of his posting house had shown little rising in the narrow upper neck, a sign of higher pressure that had happily coincided with that sunset, and now a shift of wind, as well. HMS Proteus would not fight close-hauled to make her offing, then jog down- coast to The Downs or Goodwin Sands to re-anchor and wait for a good down-Channel slant, but could head out boldly, round Dover and bowl along like a Cambridge Coach, perhaps as far as Portsmouth, before the wind turned foul, as it always would in winter. Foul, and perilous!

The costly travelling clock on the mantel chimed five times, in civilian manner, as far-off ships' bells struck Two Bells of the predawn watch; a cacophanous tinkling disagreement 'twixt lieutenants' or mates' timepieces and sand-glasses, that put him in mind of the myriad of wind-chimes he had heard in Canton, between the wars.

The night before, Gawd…!

A final round of shopping for last-minute cabin stores such as quills, ink, and paper, a new book or two, a chest of dried meats and hard-skinned sausages for Toulon's sustenance. They'd supped at a new and rather fine public house that featured large boiled lobsters aswim in drawn butter, some ham, boiled carrots, and winter potatoes, a green salad, a roast quail each, completed by cherry trifle. Then, as old Samuel Pepys had so often writ in his diary, '… and so to bed,' most daringly nude for a few moments in the chilly room, no matter the big fireplace, the warming pans and enfolding bedstead curtains, the thick down-filled quilts and extra blankets. Bliss, strenuous bliss!

Unconscious of doing so, he had drawn out his pocket watch and opened it to compare its reckoning against her mantel clock and those ships' bells. With a firm-lipped sigh and a slight nod, he shut it up with a definite clack of finality.

'I must go,' Lewrie softly pronounced.

'I know,' Theoni Kavares Connor sadly replied, barely mouthing her words, her eyes already moistly aglitter. 'I promised not to go on so, but… two years or more, so far away…'

She reached across the remains of their breakfast table to twine her fingers in his; slim, graceful, but incredibly strong and urgent.

'It's what sailors do,' he told her. 'We're not known for bein' a dependable lot.' He strove to be winsome and Devil-I-Care, as well as noncommittal. Noncommittal won, with 'winsome' a distant second.

' 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder'?' Theoni asked, citing an old adage, striving for a cheery note herself, forcing a smile.

' 'Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise',' Lewrie countered, tongue-in- cheek.

'Quoting a revolutionary?' Theoni attempted to tease. 'The American rebel, Benjamin Franklin… Poor Richards Almanack, I believe?'

'Knew I'd heard it somewhere.' Lewrie chuckled as he rose, with her hand still in his-leading and prompting his departure. Theoni sprang to her feet and rushed to embrace him, pressing her soft, sleek body tight to his in a twinkling, still toast-warm from the bed and their last 'eye opener' bout, still redolent of perfume, musk, and sex.

'You're certainly healthy, dear Alan,' she snickered against his cheek, as he stroked her back, so pliable and tender beneath the flimsy and revealing morning gown she wore, despite the chill. 'Last night… it was heavenly!' Theoni sighed in recalled bliss.

'Don't know much about the 'wealthy' or the 'wise,' though,' he pointed out, his voice deep and gravelly. 'Nobody with a lick o' sense would get out o' bed so early, nor sail off to the West Indies, if…'

Nor take such a hellish risk as this! he chid himself, and not for the first time since the week before, when Theoni had breezed into Sheerness and announced her presence! Madness, sheer madness!

She rose on tip-toe to kiss him, as if to stifle any objections he might have voiced, her slim arms a vise about his neck, her breasts heavy and hot against his shirt and waistcoat.

'But you must,' she said more soberly, after a long moment. 'I will write you! I'll write daily… long reams of letters, what you call 'sea letters'!'

'As shall I,' he found himself promising in return; such vows were easy at pre-dawn partings, though fulfilling them was a different story… depending on the excuses of Stern Duty once back aboard his ship, with its ocean of minutiae.

'Oh, I can hardly bear it!' she whimpered, going helpless and slack against him, forcing him to hold her tighter. 'So few days we've had… hours, really!'

'But rather nice hours,' Lewrie muttered in her hair.

'And when you return, there must be many, many more!' she vowed with some heat. 'Nothing will keep us apart then. It would be unjust if… No matter how things fall out, I'll…'

'I know, Theoni,' Lewrie cooed back, both hands now sliding up and down her slim back, from her hips and wee bottom to breast-level, to hoist and fondle…

There came a rap upon the door.

'Damn!' Theoni fussed, stepping back and quickly gathering her dressing gown over her bed-gown and morning wrap, and scowling crosspatch for a second before vigourously brushing her hair into order.

'Enter?'

' 'Ere fer yer traps, sir,' the manservant chearly said, bustling in with a boy servant in his wake. 'Sailin' t'day, are we, Cap'um?'

'Aye,' Lewrie replied, hands guiltily behind his back, quarterdeck fashion; as if to say, 'I never touched her, honest!'

'Just th' one wee chest, an' these two soft bags, sir?'

'Aye, that's the lot,' Lewrie answered.

'A fine mornin' t'set sail, Cap'um sir. Clear skies, an' fair winds,' the manservant nattered on. 'Does yer gig come t'fetch ya, or should I whistle ya up a boat, yer honour?'

'A hired boat would suit, thankee,' Lewrie told him. 'I'll be down, directly. T'settle the reckoning, and…'

'Rightee-ho, then, sir… Missuz Lewrie,' the servant said as he doffed his battered tricorne to them and departed with the luggage.

Ouch! Lewrie thought with a wince; salt in the wound, why don't ye, ye clueless bastard!

When he turned red-faced to Theoni, though, he noted that she was

amused, smiling to herself in the mantel mirror as she fiddled with the long reddish-chestnut curls at either side of her neck.

He slung his hanger through the sword-frog on his belt and took up his boat cloak to swirl about his shoulders, gathering his cocked hat and a pair of wool mittens… the ones that Caroline had knitted for him! His mouth made a